


Shrike

by starsinoureyes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Cold Case AU, Crime Scenes, Detective Louis Tomlinson, Harry is the victim's brother, Louis is solving a twenty year old case, M/M, Murder Mystery, No Smut, crime evidence, mention of kidnapping and rape, this is my first real attempt at a crime and murder mystery fic so please be kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsinoureyes/pseuds/starsinoureyes
Summary: Louis Tomlinson is known for solving cases that have gone cold.Harry Styles wants to get his sister's murder solved.The problem is the case is twenty years old and there is a serious lack of evidence that might drive Louis up the wall to get it solved. But he is determined to give Harry's sister justice she deserves and Harry the comfort they both need.Cold Case AU.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 60





	Shrike

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> Here I am with another experiment that just sprouted in my brain and wouldn't stop bothering me until I wrote it down. I've always loved reading murder mysteries and this is my first real attempt at writing one.  
> I hope it's not too predictable and that you'll enjoy solving the case along with Louis.  
> This is very much self-edited and probably full of mistakes. Mea culpa for any headaches my awful writing might give you.  
> Also, I apologise for the abysmal ''academic'' debate and discussions that concern great British literature - I tried my best to portray snobby English lit classes but I haven't been in one in over two years and I have no idea what English LIt classes even look like in provincial universities, let alone at Oxford.  
> I've also never been to Oxford so any innacuracies are my own fault. It's my fantasy Oxford. And London while we're at it. 
> 
> Another note: With due respect to Louis' family and recent passing of his sister, his family members in this work are changed and very much fictionalised. I didn't want to include any real names or personalities while discussing criminal cases. it didn't feel right. 
> 
> With all that being said, I hope you'll enjoy.

August, 1997

“Can I take your room while you’re away?”

Gemma’s silverware clinked against the porcelain plate. Her face was stuffed but she smiled at him with mirth in her eyes. Even though he liked to annoy her, he knew that his sister loved him a lot. The way her eyes crinkled in that special way when Harry tried to act more mature than he was.

She reached over the dining table and patted him on the head, as if he was still a kid. He was almost up to her shoulders. He was immensely proud of that fact.

“I’m still going to come home, kid.” Gemma answered.

“Like when?” Harry said, looking up from his plate. “Not too soon, right?”

Gemma rolled her eyes at him. “Like for holidays and stuff. Christmas and Easter.”

It was the last summer they were going to have together before Gemma ran off to university. The days were slowly going by and Gemma was getting busier and busier, showing little interest for the two of them to do things together.

Harry didn’t want to admit it, but he was going to miss her. It was already unnaturally quiet in the house every time she went outside to do some errands or meet up with her friends before they all scattered across the world. They could write and call each other; Harry didn’t care. He wanted his sister at home.

“Great, more time for me to usurp your territory.” Harry said with a delighted smile. He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“No you’re not, loser.” Gemma answered, stuffing her face again with poached eggs. “Since when you use words like usurp? Have you swallowed a dictionary?”

“I read it in a book.” Harry shrugged.

Gemma reached over the table again and flicked his ear. “You’re not looking up words to beat me in Scrabble, are you?”

Harry shrugged but his smile betrayed him. Gemma reached to flick him again but Harry jumped out of his seat.

“You’ll never beat me, you little mongrel!” she yelled and Harry pulled his plate with eggs away.

“You’ll have to wait and see.” Harry said with a sassy expression and sat back down. Gemma laughed and they turned to their breakfast again.

Moments like these were all he would get from now on. On every holiday and during summer. He wanted to commit the sight of his sister as she hunched over her breakfast, sitting at their kitchen table in a room that hasn’t been redecorated for thirty years. Her hair slightly loose in her ponytail and her skin pale even though she spent a lot of time sunbathing in their small backyard. Her baggy clothes with bulky slogans and catchphrases or band names on her T-shirts. She was so annoying and weird sometimes, but he loved her nonetheless.

A beat of silence passed between them.

“Hey, Gems?”

Gemma looked up with her mouth full. “What?”

“You’ll come back home, right?”

Gemma’s face softened as she looked at him and said even more softly: “Of course, Haz. Sooner than you’ll expect.”

*~*

Rain was pouring outside. The white noise was offset by a cacophony of voices that came from the offices through the open door. Louis heard the Chief telling someone off for poor handling of paperwork. There were others; his colleagues and strangers coming in for interrogation or information. The kettle boiled as he slowly tried to ease himself into the morning routine.

He poured coffee into his mug and smelled the rich aromas, exhaling for a while. He looked over at the espresso machine with a paper taped to it that said _OUT OF ORDER_.

He hated that machine, because it was old and ratty and the buttons were all faded away and he never seemed to remember which buttons to press to make some decent coffee. But in times like these, he mourned his loss. He was just not in the mood for any more work than pressing the right button to make himself feel awake.

So he had to make his own coffee with a kettle. Thankfully, Emir showed him how they do it in Turkey - with ground coffee beans and a special wide-bottomed kettle. It wasn’t hard but it was incredibly tedious, especially if you wanted to make it semi-decent. Ottoman Empire probably crumbled because someone always had to make their own coffee instead of hiring a machine to do it.

Louis took his cup and went to his desk. There were police officers arguing with their arrestees in the waiting room and Louis’ colleagues were in various state of distress over the mountain-load of paperwork and new cases coming in.

He nodded at Sanaya, the newest addition to their team, who was currently pulling at her ponytail while making a phone call. The pinch in her face and her nervous habit told Louis it wasn’t a friendly call. She waved at him.

Sanaya came after finishing her CID Programme as best in her year. She was so brilliant that they let her into Major Crime after just a year in the police force. Usually you need at least two years of experience and some tight connections. She was gunning for the Central London job to get into Scotland Yard HQ but the Commissioner put her in their small BCU. ‘Open vacancy’ was how they explained their decision but the reason was probably because she was young and a woman. Louis also suspected it had to do with her Pakistani heritage, but you can’t shout racism without hard proof.

Despite that, Sanaya proved herself within the first month. They solved a cold one and three new cases with her help. She was a good fun too. Always messing with Louis and others, always cracking jokes when they went to a pub for a pint after work. 

He wanted to ask her for some papers he left on Friday on her desk, but he decided to wait. He saw Catalina sorting out her paper work behind her desk, her curly hair bouncing in her bun, a few stray hairs tickling her forehead.

Catalina was older, ten years or so from Louis, but she was a formidable force. She was Mexican and her spirit really showed when solving cases. She was incredibly driven and was one of the first female detectives in Scotland Yard in the eighties, forging the path for women like Sanaya to follow. Louis loved her to pieces – she reminded him so much of his mother. They worked together for almost five years, and only recently did Louis notice grey hairs appearing on her forehead, making her look older beyond her youthful face.

He raised his cup in greeting and she smiled back at him between flipping papers around.

Louis put his steaming cup on a coaster next to his laptop and sat down. His nose wrinkled at the lingering smell of fresh paint as he pressed the space bar. What greeted him was a UK database of missing people which Louis was tasked to check out.

A body was found in Hyde Park at three a.m. and they still haven’t identified the victim. Everything was moving so slow.

He looked over at the other desks near him – at Emir next to him who was scrolling at his laptop screen and writing something in his notebook, at Sanaya in front of him who was still on the phone, and at Jack next to her who was the only one smiling and talking to one of the police officers.

Louis didn’t think this was the time and the place to be chummy when they had a case to solve (not to mention assisting Vulnerability Unit with a child-kidnapping and murder case) but he said nothing.

He hadn’t had his coffee yet.

When he turned back to his laptop, the smell of fresh paint assaulted him again. God, he hated the renovations they made.

Granted, the old layout of their floor in the Enfield BCU building was atrocious and there was no space for a needle, let alone fifteen detectives. But they had their own miniscule cubicles to do their work without disturbances, and now… They were spread out in an open plan room with a small kitchenette on Louis’ left and interrogation room squished on the right with Chief’s office next to it. Out of fifteen people who occupied the wide open area of their office, Louis closely worked with only four of them. And the Chief, of course. There were fifteen tables in the main room with detectives sort of organised by ranks. The youngest were in front – Sanaya and Jack – with Louis and Emir in the middle and Catalina in the back. They let her have the desk closest to the windows so she could have the maximum amount of light because of her poor eyesight. She joked about it, but she had gone to two surgeries already, and they had to protect their own. 

The walls were painted dusty grey that only made the room look smaller, and the smell of it still made Louis gag. No matter how long they opened the windows for, the smell was still persistent.

He ignored it and turned back to his laptop.

“Tomlinson, you identified the victim from this morning yet?” he heard Jack Smith’s cheerful voice. Louis’ nerves were grating. How he managed to be so chipper so early in the morning Louis will never understand. His first cup of coffee barely woke him up.

“Not yet, Smithy.” Louis said, scrolling down the database. He looked at the faces of the young women on the screen. He took a long sip as he scrolled down and checked possible victims. Female, blonde, university-age. Their bright eyes and hopeful smiles made him shiver. _What a waste_. Sometimes he hated his job. He wished that he could be obsolete one day and all of these women would be at home. Safe and happy.

“Be quick about it, yeah? Have to solve it fast.” Jack was leaning against the backrest of his chair, casually crossing his legs and staring at Louis. “Have to show the Chief what our new Detective Chief Inspector’s made of, don’t you?”

“Smithy, why don’t you make yourself useful and brew some more coffee, yeah darling?” Louis said and shook his half empty cup at Jack, “Isn’t that what sergeants are good for anyway? Glorified secretaries?”

Jack opened his mouth to say something but in that moment Chief walked out of his office so he discreetly gestured rudely to Louis and sat behind his desk, trying to appear busy.

Louis rolled his eyes at Jack’s back and glanced briefly at the framed pictures of his family. There was one group picture taken at Christmas when Louis was eighteen, and another frame without glass with two separate pictures – one of his mum and another of his youngest sister put together.

 _I’ll behave when he does_ , he thought looking at the glassless frame and returned to his work.

Slow morning turned into a productive noon and afternoon. They managed to identify the victim and the preliminary autopsy report was delivered to the office so the team could make initial conclusions and put together clues from the crime scene before beginning with interrogations and making the list of potential suspects.

Sanaya put together all the interviews of witnesses (only two – the person who found the body and a neighbour who was walking their dog and “probably saw a car but can’t be sure”).

Here’s what they did know about the case.

Emily Dawson was a hard-working and shy student so she only went to work in a coffee shop and her classes in CONEL (The College of Haringey, Enfield and North East London). She moved from Essex to the big city to pursue a nursing degree. She was young, blonde and last was seen leaving her work at closing time.

Emir and Catalina tried to reconstruct Emily Dawson’s whereabouts from the last 24 hours based on her family’s memory of her schedule. She wore the same clothes they found her in, her wallet and some pieces of jewellery missing, making it seem like a mugging gone wrong. If it weren’t for faint bruising on her neck that suggested strangling and few broken nails on Emily’s hands. Her body was found in Hyde Park by a woman coming home from a party. She claimed she didn’t see anyone near the crime scene and she herself would’ve missed her had she not seen her white sneakers with a pink strip on the sides.

“They were practically glowing in the dark.” The woman said, “like they were calling me to find her.”

The dog-walker who came to the office in the early morning when they found her was only looking for attention. He didn’t have any valuable leads or information. So far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary and Louis feared they would hit a dead end before they even began.

It was almost 9 pm when Louis finally decided a good night’s sleep might help him solve the case. He was sluggish from the gloomy morning and just wanted to go home. He turned off his desk lamp and put his transcripts of interviews with the family and witnesses in a file. Then he put everything into the only lockable desk drawer. He tucked the key in his jacket and after saying goodbye to Emir and Sanaya who were the only ones left in the office, he walked to the exit door.

He buzzed his phone awake and was greeted with a slew of texts from his sister and one from his dad.

Lila’s son was starting to walk and talk so she liked to keep Louis up to date. They were all the way in Doncaster and Louis didn’t see them as often as he wanted. She rectified that with dozens of daily videos of Jeremy doing something cute or remotely interesting.

 _There s a little lad_ , Louis typed a reply to one of those videos of Jeremy eating chocolate for the first time and making a mess.

As he tapped his screen to watch another, he bumped into someone and almost sent his phone flying across the tiled floors. He gripped it tight in his hand and turned aside to see the idiot who wasn’t looking where they were walking. Louis was the one typing on his phone, so it might’ve been his fault. Whatever, he was tired. And he was ready to spit fire.

“Are you bl-“ Louis was quick to roar, but once he saw the shaky and mostly wet figure in front of him, any mean thought evaporated into thin air. The man was clutching his messenger bag and his wet hair was plastered to his head like a wet mop. His eyes were red and bruises under them black, like he wasn’t sleeping for weeks.

He looked like the saddest person in the world and Louis’ rage died a quick death.

“Can I help you?” he asked, slowly approaching the man who looked around the hallway, confused and lost.

“I-“ his voice was deep, so unlike his delicate and pretty features – underneath the tired expression and bags under his eyes. “I’m looking for detectives?”

“I am a detective.”

“Homicide detectives.” The man clarified, looking at Louis with suspicion.

Louis pressed his lips together. “Tell me what you need and I’ll see if I can help you.”

“My sister…” the man took a breath, “she was murdered. I have something that might help solve it.”

Louis almost jumped for joy, wanting to look at the new evidence. Sometimes family members misplaced things or forget about something that proves vital to the investigation. He also had to be careful, because not everything families thought was valuable was actually usable as evidence.

“Alright,” Louis smiled and put an arm on the man’s shoulder, “let’s go to my office so we can take a look at it. I’ll make you a cup of tea. What do you like?”

“This is serious.” The man insisted, “I don’t have time for tea. I want my sister’s murder solved.”

Louis put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Calm down.” Louis took out his detective badge from his back pocket and opened it flat. “See? I’m a detective, I can help you.”

“Oh.”

Louis nodded and put his badge back in his pocket. “Okay. You’re soaking wet. You won’t help your sister if you catch a cold, now are you?”

The man shook his head. He bit his lip and his big eyes followed Louis as he motioned him toward the office.

“Now, let’s sit down and talk. I’ll still make you tea while you tell me what you know.”

The man agreed reluctantly and Louis ushered him into the open plan office space, his tiredness leaving the premises without him.

*~*

“Here you go.” Louis pulled a chair to sit next to the man and put a steaming cup of tea (he chose Earl’s Grey and Louis silently approved) in front of him. “How are you feeling?”

The man took his cup and sipped. He pulled a face, probably burning his tongue, but he said nothing. He wasn’t as pale as before and the warmth of the office thawed his shaken body. He took off his coat and took calming breaths.

“Sorry.” He said but Louis shook his head.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Death in the family is a pretty hard thing to deal with. Even more so when you know whoever did it is still out there.”

“Yeah. It’s been hard.” He sniffed.

“What’s your name?” Louis asked.

“Harry.” The man said, staring sadly at his cup of tea on the desk. “You must be used to this?”

“It’s my job.” Louis said, but when he saw how Harry frowned at that, he added quickly: “But I care about each case as if it were my first. I love helping people. I wouldn’t become a detective otherwise.”

Harry smiled briefly. “That’s nice to know.” He looked at Louis and took a deep breath. “Otherwise I wouldn’t come and bring you this.”

He pulled into his messenger bag and got out a slightly damaged shoe box. He placed it on the table and Louis opened the lid to peek inside. There was a big stack of cassette tapes, at least fifty or so neatly put together. Unlabelled.

“What’s this?”

“They were my sister’s. She loved taping herself and talk about her life. It was like a diary to her.” Harry shrugged. “She was a bit unusual like that.”

Unusual was the right word. Louis loved getting new evidence that might make or break a case, but the team (Catalina and Sanaya, actually) have already talked to Emily Dawson’s family and they didn’t bring forward any evidence like this; just Emily’s daily planner and phone. He wondered why Harry didn’t come with this evidence when Catalina and Sanaya first came to their house. He chose to interpret this as Harry calming down a bit and wanting to be helpful.

He glanced at the tapes again. It looked a little strange to Louis; in a world where kids readily made Youtube videos, Twitter threads, Instagram stories and podcasts (especially college students), that someone would take the time and effort to record himself on tapes seemed silly and unnecessary. Emily seemed like any ordinary English girl and this was a funny quirk that didn’t suit Louis’ perception of her.

But, he has seen weirder things. He was old school himself, refusing to even make a Facebook account.

“Your sister was keen on the 90s, I’m guessing.”

“Well, yeah.” Harry said, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “Shouldn’t she be?”

“No, no. I get it. They have their own charm, especially if you grew up with them. I listen to some of my old CDs when I’m feeling nostalgic. I can’t seem to get with the times.”

Harry nodded. “Old tech _is_ a bit fascinating. I still buy records, y’know. I took my mum’s old record player and play my favourites.”

“Hmm.” Louis hummed in agreement. He glanced at the cassette tapes and enjoyed the lull in the conversation. “I’ll probably have to dig out my old cassette player. It’s a shame your sister wasn’t into podcasts or blogging. Would’ve made my job a lot easier.”

“She wouldn’t be. Podcasts didn’t exist back then.” Harry said with a tone that changed the atmosphere of the room and briefly filled Louis with dread. He didn’t like where this was going.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you Emily Dawson’s brother?”

Harry shook his head. “My sister is Gemma Styles.”

“When did she-“ Louis glanced at the cassette tapes. “When was she killed?”

“In 1998.”

Damn.

*~*

Another cold case on Louis’ hands.

Chief wouldn’t like it. Nor his co-workers.

Those were the most difficult to deal with, and not just for the lack of evidence and new leads. Louis always got too invested in old unsolved cases and he beat himself up over it, making his personal and family life suffer even more than they already were. By the end of the last one he took on, he was few pounds underweight and in high risk of aneurism for lack of sleep and too much caffeine.

But he solved it.

Sanaya had made him promise to lay off any cold cases for at least six months or until he had some concrete and valuable evidence to reopen one. “And I don’t mean some hear-say stuff from geriatrics whose favorite memories are of the RAF in the Blitz. Real, concrete and hard evidence, Louis.”

Louis couldn’t help himself.

He shouldn’t take it. He already had enough on his plate. With Emily Dawson’s case which was proving to be a struggle in itself with little to no evidence, and the kidnapping case from the Vulnerability Unit they’re assisting with. He could already tell the latter will cause him a lot of sleepless nights.

“Oh, Harry.”

“Please.” Harry moved into Louis’ space with pleading eyes. “I’m sure you can solve my sister’s case. My family and I never got a closure and with these… Please, help me.”

“Old cases…” Louis started, “unless you have some pretty important new evidence, I can’t reopen it. That’s the Scotland Yard policy.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he pushed the shoe box closer to Louis. “All you need is here. Listen to them, please.” He pulled one of the last ones out. “Gemma says she believes someone at university wants to kill her.”

“Was the threat serious?” Louis asked, slipping into his professional tone. “She might’ve been exaggerating.”

Hurt flashed in Harry’s eyes. “She was killed a few days later. Can it get more serious?”

“I’m just trying to not get your hopes up. It might be nothing.”

Harry pressed his lips together and pushed the tape into Louis’ hand. “Listen to this and then tell me if you have a case or not.”

Louis held his breath.

“I’ll wait.” Harry said, his voice as biting as his stare.

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled tiredly. “I-I don’t even have a cassette player on me right now. This is old technology. It might take days to listen to all of them.” Louis glanced over at Emir who shrugged as if to say _Sorry, you’re on your own_.

“I have one.” Harry said, reaching into his messenger bag once more and putting a cassette player on Louis’ desk.

“Okay.” Louis stared at the offending machine and then looked back at Harry. “I’ll look over her file and listen to few of the tapes.”

Harry smiled for the first time that evening and raised his arms as if to hug Louis, but changed his mind and settled for a hand shake. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

“I’ll probably be working alone but if I don’t find anything incriminating, then…”

“That’s alright.” Harry rushed to say, still holding Louis’ hand. “It was a long shot coming here, since the case is twenty years old and… I understand if you can’t do anything. But I’d really appreciate it if you could try.”

Louis nodded, pulling his hand back. Harry’s cheeks reddened when he realised what he’d done. Louis stood up and gestured to the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

Harry stood up too and put on his coat. Louis walked him to the elevator in the hallway and pressed the down button.

“Listen, if you find something else or…” Louis stumbled over his words, pulling out a card from his wallet. “If you remember something useful, just call. Alright?”

Harry took the card with a grateful expression. “Yeah, alright.”

Louis nodded and when the elevator door opened up, Harry stepped in.

“Thank you again, detective.”

“Tomlinson.” Louis said with a smile, pointing at the card in Harry’s hand. “Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry nodded and glanced at the card with a shy smile. “Thank you, Detective Tomlinson.”

The elevator door closed and Louis sighed at his reflection in the shiny chrome.

*~*

Louis blew into his third cup of tea that evening while Sue was calming a new contestant on the _Great British Bake-Off_. It was a rerun but Louis didn’t mind. He liked it – actually he liked all of his TV shows wholesome and nice. 90s sitcoms were on top of his favorites list as well.

Blood and violence was already in his everyday life and he didn’t need more of it. He could not be entertained by something that put so much misery into people’s lives. Victims were people with families and rich lives that the public didn’t get to see much of. They were not numbers or curiosities for people to entertain themselves with. Louis and his team were determined not to put any case aside.

That was why he was the one who picked up the most of cold cases out of all of the people in Major Crime department – he knew families needed closure, the lives the victims led needed to be avenged. They were not just a statistic at the end of the year they calculated and presented to the press and the Ministry. People were not to be played with and tossed aside.

At least that was what brought him to detective work in the first place. Over the years, Louis slowly grew jaded as the numbers of victims rose but not the solving of cases. At first he was too emotional and attached, which was never a good thing in his line of work. He grew frustrated and frustration ruined relationships. Worst of all, it affected his family. Even though he tried to find a middle ground, he still harboured deep empathy for every victim and every case he took on.

He had a special pile of old files in his makeshift office next to the living room. It used to be a laundry room but the previous tenant took the washing machine with him so now Louis had a small space for his work stuff. It was easy to close it and pretend he was leaving work, but the truth was that Louis was always working.

Even now, as he was half-watching Paul Hollywood give instructions on how to make a perfect fudge, he was thinking about the latest case.

Seven year old Cecilia Silver was kidnapped at a shopping centre and found dead several miles from it few days later. She was messily disposed of near the city dump with minor injuries, bruises and scrapes on her body. She was still wearing a Strawberry Shortcake jacket and pink leggings her parents said were here trademarks.

It hit too close to home for Louis. And he wanted to help in any way he could.

Then there was the other case.

The Gemma Styles case.

He sighed and put his tea on the coffee table. The box full of her tapes was on it with a thin folder of the investigation. The reason the folder was so thin was because a high-profile case with a serial killer on the loose in North London occurred at the same time and all forces were allotted to solving it. The murders were mostly males so she didn’t fit the M.O. and investigation was poorly done. 

Louis wanted to be mad, but police work in the nineties was sloppy at best, especially in his district. He couldn’t do anything about his past colleagues’ miserable work ethic, so he had to do better now.

If he could take up the case in the first place.

He knew what the Chief would say, that Sanaya would berate him and cuff his ears for good measure because he was being stupid again. And yet…

He was drawn to the case in an inexplicable way. The things Gemma’s file told him wasn’t much, but a gut feeling told him something was off and that he just needed to dig a little deeper. That it wouldn’t take long.

He was always pretty good at convincing himself to do things that weren’t good for him.

So far, the murder resembled Emily Dawson’s case. But Louis dismissed any idea of it being a serial killer. They didn’t look the same – Emily being blonde and blue-eyed, while Gemma was a brunette with brown eyes – and their wounds were different. Gemma’s cause of death was a trauma to the head with a puncture wound in her skull. Emily was strangled. Gemma was found in the woods in North London, while Emily died in Hyde Park. There was nothing that connected them, apart from being nice and unassuming people who excelled academically and had part-time jobs. Like any other English girls their age.

Their personal belongings were also taken, but London was full of homeless and desperate people so anyone could’ve taken their money and jewellery after they died. Louis had to take that into account as well.

He looked at pictures of Gemma’s body lying on the grass in the woods. Her arms and legs were positioned in a way that suggested the killer was in a rush, and the tyre tracks they found were faint because it rained that night.

Louis took out a picture of Gemma from her official university records. She had a small close-mouthed smile and big, slightly angular brown eyes. She pulled her straight brown hair into a ponytail and opened her oval face.

He could see the familial resemblance in Harry now – the same nose and eyes. He would bet they had the same smile too.

Damn, Harry.

The poor boy looked so grateful when Louis reluctantly agreed to look over Gemma’s case. For twenty years he and his family didn’t get answers and were probably losing all hope of ever getting them. He looked so sad, exhausted rather, and Louis felt for him.

He knew exactly how that felt.

His sister and Gemma would’ve been the same age had they both lived.

When Paul and Mary finally revealed that week’s Star Baker Louis gulped down all of his tea and left it on the coffee table. Without a coaster. Who cared.

He took up Harry’s cassette player and started a new tape.

He steadily worked on listening to Gemma’s tapes and making notes. So far he was twenty tapes in and he realised two things: making tapes was an assignment for school but she kept up with it because she liked it. Which made Louis really like Gemma.

The first three or four tapes were of her reading made up news in anchor style or as a field investigator. She was switching styles and news, and they were the most boring out of all the tapes.

Her fifth one started with a brief explanation of what she was going to do and all the rest were snippets of her thoughts or stories about her life. She was witty, slightly sarcastic and had a slightly nerdy sense of humour which he appreciated in people. She was talking mostly about her new school and how excited she was about her classes. But the last few he listened to were a bit sad and nostalgic. She talked about her mum, her hometown and her brother, and how much she missed them. In the last one she even cried at the end of the tape.

Louis found himself tearing up with her. He pressed PLAY/STOP button and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

That was enough of work for that day.

*~*

Louis barely settled in to work when Jack intercepted him with a smirk. Usually, Louis would have a clever retort to his happy-goat-like expression but he went to bed late and he was carrying an untouched cup of coffee.

“What do you want, Smithy?” Louis said before Jack opened his mouth.

Jack’s smirk widened. Now he looked like an evil cartoonish goat. “Boss is assigning you to collect security footage from Brent shopping centre.”

Louis blinked. “Isn’t that your job? Lower ranking detectives do all the menials, don’t they?”

Jack shook his head slowly, like he was enjoying it. “Nope. Not this time. Boss wants you.”

Louis sighed. “For which case is it?” 

“The Silver kidnapping and murder.” Jack said and pressed a paper into Louis’ chest. Louis clumsily caught it and glared at the Chief’s office door. When he got that promotion it came with certain perks of not doing lower ranking detective’s job. Like staring at security footage for hours or writing reports.

He hated to remind Chief about this.

“We’ll see.” He said to Jack’s retreating back. Louis put the paper and his coffee (which was growing colder) on his desk before he sank into his chair and pressed his face into his hands. 

“Hey, Louis.”

“Just… give me a minute.” Louis mumbled.

Sanaya chuckled. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“You actually have to sleep for that.” Louis retorted and crossed his arms on his chest. “What’s up?”

Sanaya glanced around the office before she leaned in closer to Louis, whispering. “Who was that man that came here few days ago?”

“Who?”

“He was talking about some tapes and his sister’s murder.”

Oh.

“Oh.” He completely forgot that other people were in the office the night Harry dropped off new evidence. “Nobody. I thought he came for the Emily Dawson’s case, but he was talking about a cold one. From 1998.”

“And?” Sanaya crossed her arms as well, looking at Louis with her piercingly dark brown eyes. If Louis didn’t know how much of a laugh she was when out of duty, he’d think she never smiled.

“And what?” Louis said, with an eyebrow raise.

“Will you take the case? Do you have new evidence?”

Louis sighed.

Everybody in the office called him their unofficial cold case solver, always taking up people’s offers to open old unsolved murders and managing to solve them when all hope was lost. Others helped, but Louis always gave his all. Sanaya admired him for that, but because they were friends she would never outright admit it.

But he could also feel concern radiating off her like perfume. She knew he was going to overestimate how much workload he could take and it will shatter Louis’ health – both physical and mental. It will not be the first time she would have to nurse him back to life.

“Just say it, Sanaya.” Louis mumbled, rubbing at his temples.

“I won’t say anything.” She clicked with her tongue. “But we have some really though cases on our hands now. Everyone is busy and we have to prioritise open cases. Louis…”

“I know. You don’t have to worry.” Louis felt an oncoming headache. Shit. “I’ve been looking over the evidence and so far it’s not looking up.” He wanted Gemma Styles’ case but… “I still haven’t found anything substantial. So, it’s probably staying unsolved.”

“Yeah, alright.” Sanaya said and stepped away from Louis’ desk. “If you need any help,” she motioned to the stack of papers on his desk. “You know where to find me.”

Even though she was on his back for even considering any new cold case, she also, like him, was stubborn and knew she wouldn’t change his mind once he fixated on something. But like him, she also wanted to see cases closed.

Louis smiled. “I know.”

When Sanaya sat back behind her desk and Louis saw her desktop lighting up, he took his cup of coffee and briefly came to his senses after a first sip. He grimaced at the lukewarm (more cold than warm now) taste and pulled Jack’s memo from the top of his stack.

_“Sometimes I wonder if all the good ideas we have in class will ever be implemented in the world.”_ Gemma paused, a dull sound of pencil tapping against the desk filling the silence. _“I get so enthusiastic and happy when we talk about some of the issues but then I realise how many obstacles there are in ever solving them. Activism, voting, writing books, rallies… sometimes all of those things seem useless against persistent apathy and ignorance.”_

The cassette player popped its PLAY/STOP button signalling the tape was finished. He leaned to remove it and put another one in, but he stopped to glance at his notes.

So far, he wasn’t finding anything substantial. Gemma talked about some of her ideals, of her hopes and regrets, mixing in some stories about her co-workers at the coffee shop. She wasn’t specific in her talk, so Louis had to reference her file most of the time and put the places and names together.

He looked at his notebook which was filled with several pages of his messy scrawl with a bunch of arrows and question marks. To an untrained eye it looked like he wasn’t making any sense with several lines connected under random notes, but he knew what he was noting down. If only he was this clear with where this case was going.

Gemma was giving him nothing, but a new name to add to potential suspects. So far, anyone who came in contact with her could be the doer. The only question remained was why she was found in the woods in North London and not somewhere near Oxford?

Why was she in London in the first place? Did she have any friends or co-workers who lived nearby? Any boyfriend she still hasn’t mentioned? Or maybe a fling gone wrong? It looked more and more to Louis like a mugging gone wrong.

When they found her body, her wallet was empty and few pieces of jewellery she wore were missing. Everything pointed to a fact someone might’ve picked her up, made a wrong move and Gemma was killed then dumped in the middle of woods – miles away from the nearest house.

With no witnesses and no other leads beyond some testimonials from people who knew her, Louis could see why the case went cold so fast. Not to mention all the available officers and detectives were on a man hunt for a serial killer harassing the neighbourhood.

Gemma just had a case of bad luck.

Louis set the tape he listened to with the others, after labelling it carefully with a sticky note. He took another one and pressed play.

 _“If there’s one lesson you can learn from going to university, or growing up in general is that adults are untrustworthy.”_ She sounded mad. _“And the worst are people in academia. Stuck in their sheltered positions and probably didn’t read anything in their field since they were in university themselves and think they can tell you about how the world works?”_ She took a deep breath, but her voice still had a shrill edge to it. _“And female professors might be the worst of them all. Have they not experienced misogyny first-hand? Why do they enable it when they are in the position to do something about it? Fuck it all to hell.”_

The PLAY/STOP button clicked again. The tape was finished.

Louis quickly made a note and took out the tape.

Maybe Gemma’s luck was turning around.

Louis was listening to more of Gemma’s tapes when he heard his phone ring. He picked it up and frowned when he didn’t recognise the number.

“Hello?”

“Detective Tomlinson?”

“Yes. Who is calling?” Louis asked, deepening his voice to intimidate the caller if it was a prank call. It would not be the first time. He had given a lot of his business cards to juvenile delinquents involved in cases. He was accustomed to an occasional prank call with the little shits trying to prove themselves to their friends.

The caller’s voice shook. “It’s Harry. Harry Styles?” Harry cleared his throat. “I was in your office a week ago with my sister’s tapes and-“

“Yeah. I remember you.”

“Oh. Okay, good.” Harry stumbled over his words. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

“No, Harry. I said to call whenever if you have something else I might take a look at.”

“Well… I’m- I don’t actually have anything new. I was calling to ask if you made some progress? If you decided to open the case again?”

Louis paused for a moment, glancing at the player on his coffee table. He had, but he wasn’t sure how much he could tell Harry. He still had to talk to Chief.

“Detective?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis rubbed his temples. “I’m still working on the tapes, Harry. I have a lot of work to do with other open cases now and-“

“Yeah.” Harry sounded dejected. “I understand.”

Louis’ heart twisted in his chest. He really didn’t want to disappoint Harry and give him the bad news before he officially decided anything. “But listen, I might be onto something? Gemma is mostly talking about her classes in the first twenty tapes so there’s not much to go on… But she might’ve had a fight with someone and-“

“Oh. Yeah.” Harry said, sounding excited. “She had a roommate. Actually, she lived in a rented house with several other people, but she shared a floor with a girl. Samantha something. If anyone would know anything, it will be her.”

“Okay. I’ll check that out. It’ll probably be in her file.”

“Oh, right. You probably have everyone she was with in university listed with their number.”

“Not everyone, no. I’ll still need your help, though. I have to interview your mother and you again. If I take the case that is.”

Harry hummed. “I’ll be up for it, but I don’t know about my mum. I’ll talk to her, though. I want to solve Gemma’s case.”

“Technically, I’ll be the one solving it.” Louis said, scratching his short beard.

“Right.” Harry’s voice sounded coarse. “But I’ll help?”

“Of course.”

There was a moment of silence between them before Harry cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Louis.” he said, his voice filled with gratitude. “I know it’s not convenient for you to look at my sister’s case but I’m so thankful that you’re doing this.”

“No, problem, Harry.” Louis said, with a smile. “I’m just doing my job. And judging by her tapes, your sister sounds like an amazing person. It’s a shame she never got justice.”

“She _was_ amazing. Incredible.” Harry said, “the best sister in the world. She deserves to rest peacefully.”

“I’ll do my best, then.”

Harry ended the call with a hopeful “see you soon” and Louis knew what he had to do.

Louis knocked on the Chief’s office before he even took off his raincoat.

He heard Chief talking from the inside, so he was in the office at least. Louis came a bit earlier than usual, he was so impatient to see Chief he hardly slept the previous night. He spent half of his morning sorting out papers and Gemma’s tapes to present his new evidence as properly as he could. He just hoped Chief would approve.

“Come in.”

Louis opened the door with conviction. His grip on the doorknob was firm and he opened them fully, almost flying inside. He closed them before Chief could say anything. Not that he gave him any attention, he was on his phone talking to someone.

Well, there went Louis’ impressive entrance.

“Chief.”

“One moment, Tomlinson.” The chief said, before leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling, listening to the person on the phone. He hummed and huffed at intervals and Louis was slightly growing impatient. He didn’t want to interrupt because Chief didn’t look like he was enjoying whatever the person on the other line was saying. He needed Chief to be in the best mood possible.

Louis liked Chief’s office. It had that ‘old school police’ vibe to it. The panelled walls made the room look smaller than it was, with grey paint covering even the ceiling to give it unified look. His cluttered desk made from dark oak wood took most of the space, and the rest was occupied by a metal chest of drawers and two chairs in front of the desk. He even added a potted plant on the windowsill (it was gift from the team), but after the first died it was replaced with a plastic one instead. Lots of memorabilia from his career were framed on the free wall space, with some of his rewards and diplomas. Louis knew Chief wasn’t boastful, it was merely for decoration and to fit the part of a successful CID head.

When Louis first stepped into this office, he wished he could one day have the same aesthetic (or that much office space).

Chief sighed deeply and ended the phone call. “Take that coat off, Tomlinson, you look like Columbo’s nephew.”

“Sheesh, that reference is old.”

“So am I.”

Louis winked at him, but Chief merely stretched his lips to the side as a sign of a smile.

“Someone been talking your ears off, sir?” It was a start. He needed to ease Chief into it.

“Just some higher ups. Worried about security before the visit of some American politicians.” He rubbed his eyes with a moan, “The sooner they go back, the less people I’ll have on _my_ back.”

“Sounds like a fun night to me, sir.” Louis said with a chuckle.

“Stop it, Tomlinson.” Chief finally looked at him, and Louis could see how red his eyes were and his beard was at least a week old. Louis’ proposal would not be a cherry on his cake. “You’re here for a reason, I assume? What d’you want?”

“I have this case-“

“Please tell me it’s not another old unsolved one.”

“Actually-“

Chief interrupted with a hand in his air. “No.”

“You didn’t even listen to-“

“I know what you’ll say. ‘There’s this old case that went cold and new evidence came up and I want to investigate it because blah blah justice or summat.’” If Louis weren’t angry, he’d be impressed by Chief’s imitation of his voice. “I’m saying no, because we already have enough open cases to solve. We’re already understaffed, Tomlinson. I can’t have my best people working on some old family dispute cases nobody cares about.”

“It’s not a family dispute, and the family cares about this girl.”

“Of course they do, they’re family.” Sarcasm was thick in Chief’s voice as he scratched his beard, and already losing interest in Louis’ proposal.

Louis inhaled loudly and put Gemma’s file and a rundown of the new evidence on Chief’s table. “I can solve this, Chief. I know I can. I‘m not asking for anything, just telling you that I’m taking this case.”

“Look, can I make a suggestion-“

“Why did you promote me to Detective Inspector, Chief?” Louis crossed his arms and looked directly at his boss. “You told me you promoted me because I look outside the box, I hear the subtext and hidden clues in people’s words.”

Chief nodded.

“I’ve helped solve old cases with even less evidence than I have here.” Louis tapped the papers and tried to sound firm, but his voice was barely holding out from pleading. “I’ll solve this one, Chief. By myself if I have to.”

Chief sighed and leaned on his elbows, his head in his hands. “Alright.”

Louis almost jumped for joy, but he reached forward to pick up Gemma’ file and squeezed Chief’s shoulder. “Thank you, boss.”

“As long as this doesn’t interfere with your work on the open cases, Tomlinson.” Chief pointed a finger at Louis.

Louis smiled widely. “It won’t.”

“If I see you slacking on any of the new cases or dragging your colleagues behind, I’ll put an end to your investigation. Understand?”

Louis nodded. “Perfectly.”

*~*

He was walking down the long hallway, his trench coat slightly billowing as he moved. He checked his notepad once again and knocked on the brown door with the number 28 stylishly curving over a small plate with Styles engraved in it.

 _Here it goes_ , Louis thought as he waited for Harry to open the door. _The first interview_. There were aspects of his job that he hated – like unpredictable hours and shit pay – but talking to people, getting their side of the story and then slowly putting pieces together was the best. The first interviews weren’t crucial, they were more about setting the scene but they were always the most nerve-wrecking for Louis. It was that added adrenaline and excitement of actually starting a new case.

It was _real_.

Louis heard footsteps coming from the inside and he squared his shoulders, tilting his chin upwards. Harry opened the door with a small smile, greeting him warmly and shaking Louis’ hand.

“Please, come in.” Harry said, stepping to the side and letting Louis in.

Louis caught a glimpse of himself in Harry’s hallway mirror. _Maybe Chief was right, I do look like Columbo’s nephew._

He checked out Harry in front of him. He was wearing an oversized purple sweater and black skinny jeans, his feet bare. He looked comfortable and handsome, like men his age should be. Men who enjoy their lives and not spend all their time tied to their desk and solve other people’s messes.

_Easy there, Louis._

“Can I get you something to drink? Water, tea? Maybe coffee?” Harry asked, turning around when he led Louis to the living room. Melancholy music was playing from the speakers mounted next to the TV.

“Just water, please.”

Harry nodded and his eyes zeroed on Louis taking out his notepad and pen, all of this finally becoming real to him too. He shuffled to the kitchen and Louis took a moment to observe.

He noticed several things about Harry, judging solely on his apartment.

Harry was neat, domestic, family-oriented and slightly hipster-y. First one he concluded by the state of the rooms he was led through: shoes were placed under the bench in the hallway and over it coats were hanged neatly; books were stacked on a small bookshelf and he had coasters on the coffee table. Even his console was put away under a glass TV unit. His DVDs and video games were arranged by colour.

Next one was concluded by the choice of furniture and décor. Every piece was selected with care and practicality in mind while remaining aesthetically pleasing. Louis almost felt like he walked in a showroom living room were it not for the plants on the windowsills, fluffy pillows on the sofa and the soft blanket that was thrown almost stylishly over the armchair next to the window.

Hipster-y assumption came from the turntable that had its own place next to the TV, pile of vinyls also neatly stacked under it. Louis merely glanced at some of them – he barely recognised the names of some bands and musicians. 

But what drove the hipster-y feel of him was the artwork on the walls. There were some abstract pieces, but not one of those run-of-the-mill ones you could get in any furniture shop. There was something unique about them – like Harry spent his time researching artists before he bought these. Even the books on the bookshelves were ranging from classics to modern writing. He saw three poetry collections, some Charles Bukowski, Haruki Murakami and _Poet X_ by Elisabeth Acevedo.

“Do you like poetry?” Harry said, coming back and carrying two glasses of water. He caught Louis looking at his poetry collection and in mid-pulling out one of them. Louis quickly tucked it back with the others and stood facing Harry.

“No, not really.”

Harry stood next to him, checking out the book he was looking at. It was a new edition of Pablo Neruda’s _100 Love Sonnets._ The spine was still intact. Harry didn't have time to read it or it was a gift from someone. Maybe Harry was one of those people who liked to keep their books in pristine conditions. But looking at his other books – most of which had shabby edges and frayed spines you couldn't even tell the title – it was probably a recent purchase or a gift.

Louis wondered what his significant other (Louis didn't want to assume Harry had either girlfriend or boyfriend) thought about Harry's determination to solve his sister's murder. Harry'd need all the love and support in this process, especially if Louis' investigation came up with nothing.

Harry said nothing, just motioned to the sofa for Louis to sit and he sat next to him.

“Right. Let’s get this interview started?” Louis said, pulling out his phone to record and clicking his pen several times. 

“Do you want to take off your raincoat?” Harry asked.

Louis only noticed he was still wearing it when Harry pointed it out. “Sure.” He shuffled out of it and placed it on the empty armchair.

“I’ll take it to the hallway.” Harry said, quickly getting to his feet and putting the coat away. Louis couldn’t help but notice how the nervous energy of them both started to expel into the air. He knew why Harry would be but he didn’t know why _he_ was so nervous, he usually aced the first interviews. It was routine procedure.

Why were Louis’ hands so sweaty?

Harry came back and plopped himself back in his place. “Ready when you are.”

Louis glanced at the speakers next to the TV. “Maybe you should turn off the music.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh, right. I’m sorry.” He fumbled for a remote under the coffee table and pressed several buttons until the living room went silent. “My friend Niall is pressing me to listen to Shawn Mendes’ new stuff. I like it but I’m not as obsessed as he is.”

Louis chuckled. “He probably just wants someone to listen to it so you can talk about it.”

“Probably. What music do you listen to?”

Louis shrugged. “I’m not a big music fan. Top 40 and bit of old 90s boybands is the peak of my music knowledge.”

Harry tsked with his tongue. “That’s a shame. I’ll have to text you some of my favorite playlists.”

Louis curved an eyebrow. “Are you saying my music taste is shit?”

Harry smiled, his cheek dimpling deeply. “No, no. You just might need someone to widen your horizons. How do you feel about some Fleetwood Mac?”

“Is that a new McDonald’s special?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he clutched his imaginary pearls. “You did not just say that.”

Louis laughed at him, reaching out to pat Harry’s bicep. “I’m just messing with you.” They looked at each other, smiling. Then Louis cleared his throat and pressed REC button on his phone. “Should we start the interview?”

Harry’s eyes darkened as it dawned on him once again that it wasn’t a social visit but a start to an investigation. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

Louis nodded. “Can you tell me something about Gemma? What was she like? What did she like to do?”

Harry shrugged. “She was nice. Always helping people and she loved to tease me. Not as much as I liked to annoy her, I was the younger brother and she always seemed so mature and proper. I wanted to make her laugh.”

“Did she like to party?”

“As any girl her age, I think. I didn’t really know what she was up to when she was in university, but she never drank so much she’d black out. From all of her stories, she was the designated driver most of the time and taking care of her roommate.”

“I still have to check the university records for her name. Or did you remember it?”

Harry shook his head. “I- her name is Sam. Samantha. I don’t know her last name.”

“No problem. That’s my job, anyway.” Louis said, smiling reassuringly at Harry who bit his lip rather painfully. “Anything else?”

“She took a gap year before starting university. Worked for some non-profits in Eastern Europe and North Africa. Some UK version of Peace Corps. That’s how she called it.”

Louis nodded, writing everything down although he mostly knew all of these things from Gemma’s file. He just wanted to appear professional and ease Harry into the interview before asking some hard hitting questions. “Was she happy in university?”

“I think so. Every time she came home for holidays, she was talking our ears off about her classes, tutors and people she met.” He paused for a moment, “She really liked her tutor for English Lit.” He looked hopefully at Louis like that was some substantial clue.

Louis kept nodding. “I’m actually looking for people she might not like or who didn’t like her.”

Harry looked away, like he was embarrassed. “Right.”

“Did she do drugs?”

“I hope not.” Harry frowned. “What are you suggesting, Louis?”

“I have to ask everything. Doesn’t matter what she said, Harry, did she ever behave strangely or looked different?”

“N-no. She was the same.” Harry was defensive, his forehead creasing with displeasure. “I’d know if she was doing drugs or gotten into trouble.”

“Oxford is a long way from Cheshire, Harry.” Louis said, tapping his pen against the notepad. “You were just twelve, and seeing her only during holidays. She might’ve been struggling and-“

“I know I was an annoying brat, but we were close. She would’ve told me.”

“Okay.” Louis leaned towards him, dipping his voice low. “Do you want to take a break?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Do you have more questions?”

Louis glanced at his phone. “Just a few more.”

“Okay.” Harry clasped his hands in his lap and looked intently at Louis. He was nibbling on his bottom lip. He was willing to endure Louis’ questions but he would not betray his sister. Louis understood. But it wasn’t necessarily helping him solve the case.

“Did she have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

Louis nodded, writing it down as well. He asked a few more questions, like did Gemma contact him or their mother before she died and why was she in London. Harry’s lip was red raw with how much he was biting on it, obviously stressed that he wasn’t helping much.

Louis drank whatever was left of his water and shook Harry’s hand, thanking him for his help. He then put away his phone and notepad. Harry walked him to the hallway where Louis put on his raincoat.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t much help.” Harry said and pressed a hand against his cheek. “I feel so shitty I don’t know anything and like… Gemma was a good person. The best sister you could ask for and I don’t know why anyone would want to kill her. Why her?”

Louis put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Listen, Harry. I understand how you’re feeling. I have to warn you that investigating murders is a hard job and sometimes people find out things about their loved ones that they would never think they were capable of. I’ve been in this job for seven years, I know.”

“So you think Gemma-“

“I’m not assuming anything. I didn’t know Gemma and I have to be level-headed about this investigation. I might find something you won’t like but that doesn’t erase the Gemma you knew. She is still the big sister you loved to annoy and this investigation should just put a closure on things, not negate all the wonderful memories.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Thank you, detective.”

“You can call me Louis.” Louis said with a smile and withdrew his hand. “And you can call me whenever you need anything. Investigations like these can eat at a person and I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“Will you keep me updated about what you find?” Harry asked, almost pleadingly. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“I can’t discuss an open case with anyone. I can’t tell you about any suspects or evidence. But I can talk to you if you need someone to talk to. You can talk to me more about Gemma. Would that help?”

Harry nodded, his eyes slightly clearing. “Anything would help.”

“Okay. Have a great rest of your day, Harry.” Louis turned towards the doors and opened them swiftly.

“You too.” Harry said, leaning against the doorframe and watched Louis walk away.

Louis debated for a moment and turned anyway. “I’ll be waiting for that Fleetwood Mac playlist.”

He saw Harry’s dimples show up again. “Sure. I have your number?”

Louis nodded and finally turned around to leave. His hands were still sweaty.

*~*

Louis threw his Starbucks cup in a bin outside his next interviewee’s house. His raincoat was slightly damp, but the caffeine perked him up and that was what he needed for a successful morning. He stood in front of Samantha Jones’ house in North London, checking his phone and notepad to refresh his memory about new evidence and potential questions he might have for her.

So far, what he knew was that Gemma and Sam shared a flat near the university campus in Oxford since Gemma’s first year up until her death. It was a safe assumption that she was someone who might know more about Gemma’s life in university and habits outside of it.

He walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. The front garden had slightly wilting flower beds and grass was covered with gravel – someone didn’t have a green thumb and didn’t bother. He noticed there wasn’t any sign of children as well. No shoes or toys, not even a deflated football.

“Yes?” a weary female voice interrupted Louis’ inspection. A blonde woman stood at the door in an oversized hoodie and visible bags under her eyes. Her eyes were slightly watery, like she’d been recovering from a hangover.

“I’m detective Louis Tomlinson, I spoke on the phone with Samantha Jones?” Louis put on his professional face and for good measure took out his detective badge wallet, flipping it open for the woman to see.

“I’m Samantha Jones.” She merely glanced at it, scrubbed a hand down her face and opened the door wider. Louis thanked her and stepped inside.

The house was fairly clean, although dusty and air was a bit musty and stale, like nobody opened the windows in a while. Louis spotted bags of takeout on the kitchen table through the hall. Only when he stepped in the lounge did he notice a faint smell of alcohol. He didn’t see any bottles or glasses though and there were bits of trash on the coffee table

Samantha put away her overflowing ash tray and cleaned the coffee table a bit. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess. I forgot what time it was.” She apologised half-heartedly.

Louis glanced at the clock on the wall. It was three in the afternoon. He took out his phone and his notepad and set them on the table.

“You said you wanted to talk about Gemma?” Samantha asked, making herself comfortable on an armchair opposite Louis. She left the TV on, like she was expecting this meeting to be brief.

“Yes.” Louis pressed REC button on his phone and clicked his pen several times. “Can you tell me more about Gemma from your time together in university?”

Samantha shrugged. “I already spoke to the police when it happened, like, years ago. I don’t know what else to tell you. Why are you opening her case anyway?”

“Some new evidence was discovered.” Louis’ tone was professionally clipped in that that’s-all-I-can-tell-you manner without actually saying it. “What do you remember about Gemma? What was she like before she died? Did she behave any differently than usual?”

“We were good friends… not best friends, we hung out with different people but we were on friendly terms with each other. She was always either studying or working and I… liked to party.”

“Did she confide in you? Tell what was happening in her daily life?”

“We gossiped.” Samantha shrugged, “She told me about her classes, not that I paid much attention. I was in Economics programme at Exeter College and she was a typical Humanities student – thinking she could change the world by discussing it.” She rolled her eyes to bring her point home.

“What do you mean?”

“She went on different panels and lectures set up by her professors, they discussed world peace or some shit like that. But it only stays on that for them. They can only talk and write books, they’re not doing anything.”

“Unlike Economics majors?”

Samantha laughed, her grey and tired face lighting up for a moment. “We don’t do shit, too. But we’re not delusional pricks, blabbing on about society and privilege.” She scoffed. “The only thing that degree got me is a good marriage.”

“Not a job?”

“I’ve made some poor decisions, detective Tomlinson.” She said it with a resigned tone. “Not finishing my degree is just one of them.”

He glanced at her ring finger; there was a faint white space where a wedding band would normally be. _Recently divorced_ , Louis noted. Louis couldn’t help but feel bad for whatever put her in this position – to drink until she blacked out and hide her bad habits from everyone.

“But at least I haven’t been a judgmental asshole and giving everyone a piece of my mind every time I disagreed with them.” She added bitterly.

“What do you mean?” Louis asked again, feeling like he hit a nerve.

Samantha rolled her eyes again. “Gemma was nice, alright? In her own way, but she liked to argue with people. Especially with her professors.”

“Did she fight someone in particular?”

“She switched her studies a few times, but I remember she talked the most about her English Lit professor. I don’t really remember her name.”

_Samantha entered the flat with a loud bang of the door._

_Gemma was flicking her school books and making notes on the kitchen table. Samantha sighed, she hated when Gemma did her work in shared spaces. It made her feel bad, like she should be studying too and not going out._

_“Hi, Sam.” Gemma said, clearing her throat and trying to hide how shot her voice was, like she’d been crying._

_“Hi, Gems.” Samantha said, her heart filling with sympathy as she tossed her bag on the floor along with her jacket and sat next to Gemma. “Did something happen?”_

_Gemma shook her head, flipping more pages of her textbook. “No. Nothing that matters.”_

_“Then why are you crying?”_

_Gemma sniffed and wiped under her eyes. “I’m being stupid. It’s fine, Sam.”_

_Samantha fixed her with a stern look. “Look, I have no plans. George stood me up and instead of plotting his complete ruin, I’d rather make you feel better. Get my daily dose of good karma. Now tell me what happened.”_

_Gemma finally looked up at Samantha and closed her book. Her eyes were watery and red, her nose was puffy and her smile crooked. Something really bad must’ve happened._

_“You’ll think it was stupid.” Gemma said, picking at a chipped part on the side of the table._

_“No, I won’t. Come on.”_

_Gemma took a deep breath. “So, I wrote this essay…”_

_Samantha tried to not to roll her eyes at that._ Of course it was school related. What else could be going on in Gemma’s life? _But she composed herself and listened like she was interested._

_“And I thought it was really good. It was about Virginia Woolf and how her feminist thought only concerns white middle-class women, how she treated her servants poorly and didn’t think they deserved any rights she proclaimed were necessary for women like her.” Gemma got heated up and her eyes were drying. There was a new tension in the air Sam felt enter her bones too. “And I got my evaluation on it a week later and the professor basically wrote that my thesis statement was irrelevant and unimaginative.” Her eyes got wide, re-enacting the outrage._

_“What did you do?” Sam asked._

_“I confronted her, of course. I came to her after class and asked her to explain her evaluation. She just told me more of the same. That my evidence didn’t support my thesis statement and it looked to her like an elementary school gossip and not a serious paper on an important literary icon.”_

_“’Important literary icon’? She said that?” Sam scoffed._ Literature snobs, fuck me _. “What’s she smoking? I want some of that.”_

_Gemma chuckled, her face brightening briefly. “She said something like that… Basically, I made a mistake by talking shit about her favourite author. She wrote like three books on her and-“_

_“Shit. Talk about being in someone’s ass.” Sam commented and Gemma laughed._

_“Yeah.” Gemma sniffed. “Anyway, I have the option of writing about something else or she won’t grade me.”_

_“So, what are you going to do?”_

_Gemma shrugged. “I’ll stand my ground. She can’t bully me into changing my opinion. We’re at university and you should be allowed to express your opinion on any matter, and no one should be allowed to silence you.”_

_“She’s the professor so she can.”_

_Gemma pursed her lips. “So, you’re saying it’s right for her to not grade because she doesn’t like what I have to say?”_

_“No, no. I agree with you, but it’s just a paper. Do you really want to take all that effort over a silly paper?”_

_Gemma raised her chin, her eyes clearing and determined. “Yes. Today it’s a paper, but tomorrow might be my life. Do you ever want to stop feeling helpless?”_

_Sam shrugged. She didn’t know what to say._

_Gemma sighed and turned back to her textbooks. Sam took that as her cue to leave and picked up her bag and jacket, walking to her room._

Louis nodded, writing that down. “Alright. Did she make any more enemies with her professors? Would anyone want to get her out of her class for being confrontational?”

Samantha shrugged. “I don’t know. I just remember that one.”

“Do you know anything Gemma did in her spare time? Any clubs or special interests?”

“I don’t know. Most of my university time was spent in London clubs and then in bathrooms tasting that alcohol once again.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Y’know, the only way to experience uni life.”

Louis said nothing to that. “What about her co-workers at the coffee shop? Were there any problems with them?”

Samantha pursed her lips in thought. “She might have mentioned someone stealing from the register a few times, but other than that I don’t really know anything about them.”

“Stealing?” Louis was alarmed now. There wasn’t any mention of that in Gemma’s file. “You didn’t say anything about that in the original investigation.”

“I was a uni kid, probably on drugs or alcohol. Maybe both.” Samantha said casually. “Or maybe I didn’t think it was relevant.”

Louis raised his eyebrows at that, but didn’t comment. “In any case, you’re telling it now. Do you know if Gemma had any boyfriends or why would she go to London when she did?”

“No, as far as I know, she was as celibate as any other crazy feminist. She never brought anyone home. It was all work and study for her. Maybe she went on some lecture or a convention? She always went on those.”

“Probably. Her professors might know more.”

Samantha looked at her TV, completely losing interest in Louis and the interview. She was probably itching for another glass or a bottle of whatever alcohol of her choice. “Is that everything?”

Louis nodded. He put away his phone and notepad. “That will be all. Thank you for your time.”

“You can see yourself out.” She said, waving a hand at him and remained sitting in her armchair.

*~*

It was buzzing in the office, people were milling about and chatter was heard from every corner. Louis tuned the white noise out and focused on his laptop screen. He checked the time in the right corner. Almost seven p.m. He glanced at his half-empty cup and felt jittery. He already had his third cup of the day but… he could use one more cup to settle his nerves.

Sanaya went straight for Louis’ desk, while putting her hair in a ponytail. She was wearing a nice mustard coat that complimented her dark skin tone, and dark trousers.

“Tommo, are you coming with? We’re grabbing a pint down at Bobby’s.”

“Yeah.” He said lazily without looking up. He wasn’t really feeling like it. “Who’s coming?”

“Emir and Catalina. Jack said he had some work to do and Chief can’t.”

Smithy wasn’t coming. That put a turn on the entire thing. “I’m coming.” He said, locking away his case files in a drawer.

“Can I borrow some of these? I lost all of mine.” Sanaya said, reaching for Louis’ safety pins.

“Where do you lose them? I hardly ever see you use them.” Louis said and Sanaya stuck out her tongue at him. She glanced at Louis’ screen which was still open to Hertford College staff database.

Sanaya’s brow furrowed. “What are you doing then?” She leaned forwards and Louis clicked too late to get out of Hertford’s College’s website. “Louis? What’s this?”

“Nothing.” He said too quickly and it raised suspicion.

“Either you’re planning on going back to school or you’re working on a new case.”

Louis sighed.

“Are you working _another_ unsolved case?” Sanaya’s eyes were big and angry. Louis winced on the inside.

“Look-“

“Need to look over these for the kidnapping case, Tomlinson.” Jack appeared out of nowhere and plopped several thick files right in front of Louis, and then whizzed past Sanaya.

“If you want me to work on these, Smithy, you better fix that bloody coffee maker.” Louis shouted after him, and Jack simply raised a hand, flipping the bird at him without turning.

“That guy just gets on my nerves sometimes…”

“Louis.” Sanaya’s tone was stern, like she was scolding a misbehaving dog.

He turned back to Sanaya. “Chief approved it. I’m not doing anything off-the-record. I promise.”

Sanaya fixed him with a look. “I told you not to take up any new old cases, Louis. We already have enough on our plate.”

“I’m not asking you to help, am I?” Louis raised his voice, “I’m doing this on my own and I’m still working on the open cases.”

Sanaya’s jaw clenched. “Fine.”

Louis completely shut his laptop down and picked up his rain coat. He steeled himself to look Sanaya in the eyes. He knew this would happen if one of them found out. “Are we going or?”

Sanaya raised her eyebrows and without a word picked up her backpack and headed to the exit. Louis almost ran after her.

Old Bobby’s Pub was a pretty popular place with the police force in Louis’ district. Nobody knew how old it actually was - the décor never changed and there were always the same people who frequented it. There were police memorabilia (hats, sports trophies, batons, etc.) and photos of honoured or dead policemen on the walls, and the worn-in chairs and booths made the space feel homey. It was always dimly lit, and the bar was massive. Besides serving popular ales, it also promoted local breweries and stocked some of the best pale and dark ales on that side of London.

Louis absolutely loved the place.

But as he entered it and Sanaya strode in front of him to a booth were Emir and Catalina were already sitting at, yelling “Louis took another unsolved case!”, he wanted to bolt.

Emir and Catalina looked at him with very different reactions. Emir rolled his eyes and sighed, while Catalina’s eyes widened and she looked at him with worry and slightly pissed tilt to her mouth.

_Oh, boy._

“Why in the devil’s name did you do that for?” Catalina asked, moving her pint of dark ale to the side, so she could swing at Louis better and not spill her drink.

Emir closed his eyes in annoyance but said nothing. Sanaya looked pretty smug and sat next to Catalina so all three of them stared at Louis who was still at a loss for words.

He knew Sanaya would tell them, he just thought he had more time before she blabbed. He pulled a hand down his face and took off his rain coat, setting it on the back of the booth and sliding next to Emir.

“Hello to you too.” His tone was dry.

Emir nudged him. “What’s the case about, Louis?”

Louis covered his face with his hands. “Can I… can I please have a drink before you drill me to death?” His voice was muffled by his hands, but he pulled them down and looked at each of them. “I just want a pint, and then I’ll answer all the questions you have.”

Sanaya was the closest to the bar. They all looked at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes. “Okay.” She said, getting her jacket off and setting her backpack under the table.

Louis watched her go, and then he became fascinated by the cracks on the table.

“How’s the kidnapping case going?” Catalina asked Emir.

Emir was the head on the Silver kidnapping case. It was weird that they still called it a kidnapping case when it turned into a murder, but it was easier like that. With no witnesses, and grieving parents making their case difficult, they were making a slow progress. Louis was tasked with the ungrateful job of looking over the security footage from four different cameras and writing down any and every driver’s license he came across. 

Child cases were particularly rough for everyone on the Team, especially those who had their own, like Catalina and Emir. Louis was affected for a very different reason. That didn’t mean they weren’t professionally handling them.

“Good. We’re making good progress.” Emir said, looking mostly at his nearly full pint of Stella. “Just need to check driver’s licenses and we’re nailing the bastard.”

Catalina nodded in approval. She wasn’t working with them on that one so Emir couldn’t tell her much. She was already assigned for some other case. A bit more paper work, but she didn’t complain.

Sanaya came back with two pints of pale ale. Louis squinted at his and took a sip. It was a _Budweiser_. He almost spat it out.

“You have your beer, now talk.”

“It’s a Budweiser.” Louis whined. Was she upset about the case enough to get him sewage water for a beer? And here Louis thought he gained some respect after his promotion.

“You said you wanted beer, you have it.” Sanaya’s stare was cut-throat. “What’s the case about and why did you take it?”

“Sanny, darling, please be nice.” Catalina said, patting her on her forearm. “We don’t give our friends Budweiser and expect them to play nice.”

Louis smiled at her gratefully, then giving Sanaya a pointed look. Sanaya rolled her eyes.

“But you-“ Catalina turned to Louis with a serious look, “why did you take up another case, when we’re swamped as we are?”

Sanaya took off to get Louis a proper beer, and Louis sighed dejectedly. Disappointing Catalina felt like disappointing his own mother. But Catalina was a cool mom, the kind that will grab a beer after work with you.

“I’m doing the case on my own. If anyone is swamped then it’s me.”

Catalina gave him a look that said “yeah, right”. Sanaya came back in record time and Louis gratefully reached for something that looked a lot more appealing in a tall glass. He took a long sip.

“You don’t have to worry.” He added, but it didn’t do anything.

“This is not some 1950s cop movie, Louis.” Sanaya said, “You have a team behind you that depend on you and you willingly went behind our backs and took up a case without even telling us about it.”

“I _told_ you,” Louis insisted, “I went to Chief and asked him if I could take up the case and he agreed.”

“But that’s not enough.” Catalina jumped in again, “how do you think you’ll manage the workload if the case gets bigger than you expect? If we get more open cases? There is a reason there’s almost fifteen of us working in Major Crime and not just you.”

Emir tapped his fingers on the table. “What case are we talking about?”

“A young girl was found in a park in our district, but she was a student in Oxford. The case went cold really fast and I’m just trying to help her brother find who did it.” Louis felt like he was making so many excuses. He understood their position, but could they understand him too?

“That young man who came here few weeks ago? He was all wet and sad?” Emir asked, clearly trying to be the peace-keeper. Louis was grateful for the support.

“Yeah. You and Sanaya were there.”

“The sad cutie that brought a box?” Sanaya said, playing with the condensation on her glass. “He looked really upset.”

“He was.”

“But I thought you told him you have no case because the new evidence was too weak to open it.”

Louis shrugged. “He left me some of his sister’s tapes and I think I found something that could open the case again. I barely scratched the surface… It’ll be fine.”

“Is it personal?” Catalina asked, reaching across the table for Louis’ hand.

“What?”

“Do you know him or something?” she clarified, with a sad look in her eyes, “Because there’s no other explanation why you would take up an old case and not tell us anything about it or let us help you.”

“No, I’ve never met him before.” Louis said, then gulped on his beer.

“Then why did you take the case?” Emir asked and Catalina pulled away from Louis, giving him a bit of space for him to open up.

Louis took a deep breath. What he loved about his co-workers was that they were all about work; they could work in harmony on any case and then laugh in a pub with no problem. Nobody asked or went too deep into others’ personal life beyond basics and what the person told them. They didn’t want to pry.

How could he tell them now that one of the reasons he took Harry’s case might be so his sister could get justice unlike his own did? That he would gladly lock up the prick who did this to her and not taken the easy way out and killed himself like Maggie’s kidnapper did.

They knew he had a sister and that she died young, just not the circumstances. And he wasn’t ready to tell them now. Not in their pub, with the weird stale smell and spilled beer on the table. Probably, not ever.

“I just…” he paused, thinking what he could tell them to keep some self-preservation.

“Is it about your promotion?” Emir interrupted.

“What?”

“I know Jack can be a prick sometimes, but I hope he didn’t get it in your head that you need to prove yourself to the team or the boss. Because you don’t.” Emir explained.

Louis’ brain momentarily froze. While not exactly true… he could work with it. He scratched his jaw nervously and then faked a smile. “It’s stupid, I know. But I kept thinking, what if he’s right?” he knew how to lie effectively, “We’re the same age and came into the team at the same time. Why was I picked and not him?”

“I love Jack,” said Sanaya, “the lad is good but he doesn’t have the same work ethic as you, Louis. Yeah, he gets things done but he’s not always deep in the work. You’re really giving your all to everything, even with the most difficult cases.”

Catalina nodded in agreement, smiling motherly at Louis. “You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. You’ve already done that and the promotion is the proof. You wholeheartedly deserved it, darling.”

Louis looked away and fumbled with his beer. “Thank you.” 

Catalina reached for him once again. “Alright. If you’ve already opened the case… And Chief agrees… There’s nothing really we can do here. But if you need help with the case… anything at all, we’re here for you.”

“Thanks.” Louis smiled gratefully, and it was sincere. He was lucky to have them as co-workers.

“Now, that that’s clear…” Sanaya said, giving Louis a wink. _I got your back._ “Who wants to play darts with me?”

Louis finished his beer in one single gulp and grinned at her. “I will. What’s at stake?”

“Just your dignity.”

Louis slapped on the table playfully. “Damn, I don’t have that anymore.”

“Then, twenty quid.” Sanaya chuckled.

“Sure.”

*~*

Louis went to bed that night with tiredness setting deep in his bones. It was a long day.

He felt guilty for lying to his co-workers but he really didn’t want to relay his sad story. It was not the time nor the place, and he didn’t want anyone to know. It was something he carried with him every day of his life and talking about it felt like ripping his skin open and bleeding out his fears and darkest thoughts.

He rolled eyes at himself. He really needed to see a therapist one of these days.

One was provided by the department but that was too closely connected to his everyday life. If he was ever going to do it, he’d pick someone who lived on the other side of London and he couldn’t accidently see them walking down the street. Knowing that someone knew his innermost thoughts and fears terrified him.

It was probably the main reason he was still single at thirty two. (There were thousand little ones, but actually getting close to someone was always Louis’ weakest point)

After he ordered take out, he settled for a quiet night in front of his TV. After a long bout of mindless channel surfing, he found a mini marathon of Full House and was fully prepared for some wholesome TV experience and nostalgia when his phone ringed.

He saw the caller ID and wiped a smudge off his cheek, rolling eyes at himself because Harry was calling him and couldn’t actually see him.

“Hello?”

“Detective Tomlinson?” Harry’s voice was soft, like he was snuggled in bed and ready to fall asleep.

“I told you to call me Louis, Harry.” Louis said.

“Hi, Louis.” Louis could hear a smile in his voice.

“Hi.” Louis glanced at his wall clock. It was almost eleven pm, an odd hour to call someone investigating your sister’s murder unless something happened. He waited for Harry to start talking, to give him space and show him Louis was a safe person to talk to.

“Um…” Harry finally said after a moment of silence. “I know you’re not supposed to tell me anything, but… H-how is the investigation going?”

“Fine. I’ve just been interviewing people, but… it’s looking promising.” He barely started, but he couldn’t tell Harry that. Harry wanted good news; that was why he called.

“Oh, okay. Good.” There was a brief silence. “That’s good.”

“What are you doing?” Louis asked, because he was interested and because he had a feeling Harry wasn’t ready to hang up just yet.

“I-I’m at home. Watching TV.” He cleared his throat. “You?”

“Same. Hanging out with Michelle Tanner and the gang.” He chuckled at his choice of words. _Who says gang these days?_

“You’re watching Full House? What channel?” Louis told him and spent the next few seconds listening to Harry cursing and trying to find his remote. “I loved the show when I was younger. Still do.”

“It’s a comfort watch.” Louis mused. “No matter what happens, at least they have their shit together.”

Harry hummed in agreement. “Who was your favourite? No, let me guess.”

Louis chuckled. “Okay. Go on.”

“Uncle Jesse?”

Louis hummed. “How did you know?”

He could picture a satisfied grin on Harry’s face now. He smiled at the thought. “I thought a big serious detective might have a soft spot for the bad boy. Danny’s too boring and I doubt you were interested in the shenanigans the girls were up to. Easy guess.”

“Am I that transparent?” Louis said, reaching for his blanket and spreading it over his legs and torso - getting more comfortable on his sofa. It was nice talking to Harry like this, with ease and soft voices. He almost felt like Harry was next to him. 

“Predictable more like.” Harry’s smugness dripped through his soft voice.

“What about Joey? Joey could be my favourite.” Louis argued, but without heat.

“Nah.” Harry answered easily. “You’re not the Joey fan type.”

Louis didn’t know what Harry meant by that, but he let it slide. “You got me. I do like my men dark and ruggedly handsome. Like Uncle Jesse.” He chuckled. “Then I bet I can guess yours too.”

“Who is it?” there was amusement in Harry’s voice.

Louis thought for a bit on his answer. “Since you said Danny’s too boring, then one of the girls… Probably DJ or Stephanie.”

Harry made an annoying error sound. “Nope. Sorry, detective, you don’t win this time. It’s actually Joey.”

Louis groaned. “I wanted to say Joey, but it felt too obvious.” He blew through his mouth, spitting a bit. “So you like the funny ones? Like… Joey’s a bit of an underdog.”

Harry laughed. “I like people who make me laugh. And who are nice.” He paused for a moment. “And if anyone is an underdog, it’s Kimmy.”

He heard Harry yawn.

“Am I boring you as well?”

Harry laughed. “No no. I just had a long day. Been up since dawn and stayed late at the university to grade papers.“

“What do you do?” Louis asked.

“I’m an assistant at UCL (University College London). Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m interested?” Louis said, smiling at Harry’s inquisitive tone.

“I just- I thought you knew all about me since… From the investigation.” Harry’s voice was reduced to a whisper and Louis muted the TV.

“Well… yeah, I knew… it’s just nice to ask? Pretend like we’re two strangers getting to know each other?”

Louis held his breath. Was that too creepy? Or too forward? Harry might be wondering what else Louis dug up about him.

Harry hummed on the other line. “That’s nice of you. But now I’m wondering what else did you find out about me?”

“You’re fine.” Louis said, with a teasing tone. “No incriminating information, I promise. No DUI, criminal activity, pretty tame Internet history-“

“Hey!”

Louis chuckled. “You’re a model citizen, Harry. And so is your mom.”

“You looked up my mum?”

“Harry.” He needed to thread this carefully. “My investigation only involves Gemma. I’m only getting information about people who are relevant to the investigation. You are her family, and I had to look you up to get a better picture of her family history.”

Harry sighed with relief. “Thank you. I wasn’t worried about that, but it’s nice to know.”

“All in the day’s work.” Louis said, noticing Full House was done and replaced by a dog food commercial. “How are you? How’s your mum?”

Harry coughed to clear his throat. “Good. She was upset that I’d gone behind her back, but… We talk about Gemma a lot now.”

“You didn’t used to?”

Harry sighed. “No. Not really. It was hard on my mum, every time I asked her something or started talking about some shared memory. She didn’t say anything but she’d smile and get a certain look on her face so… I just stopped talking about her.”

“It must’ve been hard.” Louis commented uselessly. _Of course it was hard._ _Idiot._

“It was.” Harry sniffled. “But we’re fine now. I actually went to study Women’s Studies because of Gemma. I felt like I might be closer to her that way. Like… What she wanted out of life and what she valued. Is that silly?”

“No.” Louis said, his voice soft. “It’s not silly. Did it help you in any way?”

“I guess. I understood women’s struggles more and now donate regularly to women’s shelters so… She might’ve made an impact on me without trying.”

Louis smiled, burrowing himself in his blanket more. “That’s- that’s really nice, Harry. She would be so proud of you, I’m sure.”

Louis wondered what Harry was thinking right now. What his face looked like. Was he sad? Or nostalgic? Sometimes he hated phone calls because there wasn’t a lot to go on except person’s voice and he liked looking at people while he talked to them.

“What about you? What’s your family like?” Harry asked, and Louis heard slight shuffling on his end. Like Harry was getting more comfortable too.

“They’re great. They live in Doncaster, so I don’t see them often. My oldest sister has a baby boy. He’s almost two years old.” Louis grinned, talking about his family always made him feel a special way. “He’s just learning to walk and talk so it’s both funny and crazy in the house.”

“I can imagine. I love children.” Harry said. “What about your parents?”

“They divorced when I was young. And I don’t really talk to my dad.” He paused for a moment, then added, “My mum died five years ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Louis.”

“Thank you. It was cancer, if you wondered.”

“I did, but I didn’t want to ask.”

“It’s okay. Most people do.”

Harry hummed without saying anything. Louis was quiet too.

“Do you miss her?” Harry finally asked, but his voice was timid, like he might scare Louis away. Louis wasn’t scared. His mum was brilliant, he could always talk about her.

“Every day.” he inhaled deeply, “You know how they say it gets easier with time? I don’t think it does. It’s just a comforting thing we like to say to ourselves and to others.”

“I get what you mean. I- I’m not as upset over Gemma as I was, but… as I get older, the more things are happening and I’m doing so much that I’d love to talk to her about… I want her beside me experiencing those same things.”

“Yeah. You feel it more, their absence, when great things are happening.”

Harry hummed in agreement. “Sometimes… like, she died so long ago and I sometimes forget about her when something happens. My mum remarried five years ago and I didn’t think about Gemma until after it was over. I felt so guilty.”

“It’s okay.” Louis jumped to reassure him, “that doesn’t mean you don’t care about her anymore. Life happens and you’re swept up in it. You thought about her later and that counts. You still love her.”

Harry huffed into the speaker. “Yeah…” He paused for a moment. “It’s getting late, so… you probably have to be up early tomorrow.”

“I always do. But I’ll just have an extra coffee. If you want to talk more, we can.”

“Nah. I have to be up early too. Morning classes.” Harry yawned.

Louis chuckled. “I don’t envy you on that. I hated getting up early for uni classes.”

“That’s why you became a detective, right? Flexible working hours.” Harry snorted, a rather unflattering sound but to Louis it was endearing.

“Of course. I love getting up at three am to go to a crime scene.”

“You wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Louis said, and he meant it. He loved his job, as difficult as it was sometimes. Helping people like Harry was worth the hassle.

“Well, that’s good to know…” Harry said, “Goodnight, Louis.”

“Good night, Harry.”

He waited for Harry to hang up. He only did after a beat of silence, like he wasn’t ready to go as well.

Louis fell asleep on the sofa, wrapped up in his blanket and his phone safely tucked under a pillow.

*~*

It was an explosion of green with streaks of grey as the road winded over the hills and valleys. Black roofs of white houses were doting the countryside and forests were seamlessly expanding and receding on the horizon. Spring was in the air and in the eyes. Burst of colour from every corner was subdued by limitless shades of green.

It was amazing to Louis that just an hour outside of London there was so much greenery and barely a house in sight for miles. He spent most of his time surrounded by concrete and glass that he forgot that there was an entire untouched world outside of the big smoky London.

He was driving to Oxford, and he took the quickest route, the A40, but even the views on the busy highway were pretty scenic. Not even the slow traffic due to road work weren’t able to ruin his mood.

He arrived on the outskirts of Oxford, near Magdalen College, and parked. He had never been to Oxford before, but according to Sanaya, it was nearly impossible to find a parking space “because Oxford is too cool for car parks” and “Oxford is walkable anyway.” Those were Sanaya’s parting words of advice. So he found the first available place to leave his car and walked the rest of the way to Hertford College.

At first glance, the city was beautiful. Old medieval buildings blending with modern glass shop fronts on the High Street. It reminded Louis of Scotland, like older parts of central Edinburgh, with the stone facades and gothic spirals reaching skywards on every corner, almost like the entire city was moving upwards. Louis read somewhere that the wide city area only had about hundred and fifty thousand residents.

For some reason it was weird to Louis, that a city this famous and with such historical importance, was so quiet and small. Almost preserved in time.

But the bustle of tourists and locals walking on the street shattered the illusion. While there were barely cars on the street, people were milling around like ants and noise rose steadily as he came closer to more popular pedestrian areas.

He looked at his phone and navigated narrow cobbled streets to his destination – Hertford College. From Louis’ research, the college was among one of the oldest that were founded in Oxford. University of Oxford was actually made of thirty eight colleges scattered around the city and each was self-governing, with its own rules and activities.

There were three buildings that belonged to Hertford College, and Louis only needed one. As he looked at the entrance of the Old Quadrangle, at the architectural splendour of Victorian era, he felt like a nail sticking out. Smartly dressed groups of students passed him by, carrying books and backpacks (he thought he saw a briefcase or two) and he was reminded that the world’s best and brightest attended this institution.

He looked at the colourful floral decoration of the wooden doors and took a minute to imagine Gemma walking through and down the same cobbled path. She came from a working class family like him, but she was clever enough to get accepted here and cross the barrier. Louis wasn’t delusional of the fact that cleverness wasn’t the only thing colleges looked at during admission period. A lot of well-greased people slipped by, with far less academic smarts.

Money and family background was important, even more so in Gemma’s time in university than nowadays. He could only imagine how she adapted to that environment.

Louis still didn’t listen to all of Gemma’s tapes but it wouldn’t surprise him if he found she felt lost.

He entered the building, passing the gates and entering the courtyard with the building wrapped around it. Lawn was impeccably kept and lushly green. Ivy was growing on the stone walls and wide white-framed windows peeked out amongst the greenery like dew glistening in a meadow.

It was beautiful and inviting but so were carnivorous plants. Hertford College looked like an old, prestigious and snobbish plant that patiently waited to devour unworthy or less privileged students.

Louis asked for direction to offices and walked to the western side of the quadrangle, enjoying the brief sunshine and unravelling the belt on his trench coat so he wouldn’t get too hot.

He found himself in a long hallway that was opened with triple tall windows on one side and on the other were doors to college’s offices. On the ground floor was administration and younger teaching staff, and on the upper floor were heads of departments and senior professors. Each door that Louis passed had a brass plate with the engraved name of the occupant. There were a lot of doctors and other impressive titles thrown around.

Louis knocked on one; with a _Dr Colleen Hardgrave_ engraved at Louis’ eye level. A small paper was pasted under with the time and dates for consultations and professor’s email.

“Come in.”

Louis entered a small office with a bookshelf and an overflowing desk that overtook most of the space. Two large windows enabled natural light to cover every inch of the office. Louis noticed a row of plants on the windowsill. The office was small, but professor Hardgrave took great care to make it look spacious. There was a mirror on the wall next to Louis.

Small, plump brunette was sitting at the desk. “May I help you?” she asked, her brows furrowing behind her thin-framed glasses.

“Yes. I’m Detective Louis Tomlinson from Criminal Investigation Department in London.” Louis took a professional tone and offered his hand for a handshake, “Are you Colleen Hardgrave?”

“ _Doctor_ Colleen Hardgrave.” She corrected politely, took off her glasses and shook Louis’ hand, “I did not work five years on my PhD for nothing, detective.” She motioned to the two free chairs in front of her desk for him to sit.

“Of course.” Louis barely suppressed an eye roll. _Already setting herself on a pedestal, I see._

“What is the meaning of this visit?” she settled in her chair, sitting too straight to be comfortable, “From London no less.”

Louis sat opposite her, making himself comfortable and getting his phone and notepad out. “Well, it’s regarding a case. We’re investigating Gemma Styles’ murder.”

“Gemma Styles?” Dr Hardgrave raised her eyebrows. “But that happened almost twenty years ago. They never caught the killer- what are you doing here?”

“There was some new evidence overlooked in the initial investigation and we’ve reopened the case. The reason I’m here, Dr Hardgrave, is because Gemma was your student.”

Dr Hardgrave shifted in her seat and looked away from Louis. “I’ve already said everything I know to the police when it happened. I’m not sure why you need me to repeat it.”

Louis leaned forwards. “As I said, new evidence came up. And I want you to tell me about your relationship with Gemma Styles.”

“Well… I held a class on Feminist Writing she was in and I was also her tutor.” Dr Hardgrave pressed her lips together momentarily, smudging her red lipstick on the corner of her mouth. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with our teaching, detective, but here at Oxford we do tutoring sessions with one or two students and go over their assigned reading material and essays. That way we insure excellence and productivity in our students.”

“I’m familiar with it, thank you.” Louis said, his tone sharp. “I’m interested in how you and Gemma Styles got along. In your classes, tutoring sessions, what have yous.”

“She was an excellent student, I had no problems with her.”

Louis flipped pages of his notepad for effect. “Interesting. I heard you had a confrontation over an essay Gemma submitted to your class. You didn’t like what Gemma wrote and threatened you won’t grade her.”

Dr Hardgrave leaned on her elbows on her table. “Are you talking about her Virginia Woolf essay?” she laughed, a strident sound that pierced the silence in the office. “It was just a stupid essay. Her thesis statement was ridiculous and she had no evidence to support it.”

“Gemma disagreed.” Louis said, looking at his notes and edging her on.

“She was just an undergraduate student and she was making serious accusations about a literary icon based on her fanciful opinions.” Dr Hardgrave fired back, her back straight. “We’re a serious educational institution and there’s no place for some silly girl’s hateful essays because she didn’t like the reading material.”

“You’re quite an expert on Virginia Woolf?”

Dr Hardgrave nodded. “I’ve spent almost twenty years writing papers and giving lectures on her life and writing. Wrote four books on her, as well.” She motioned to her bookshelf which was full of academic books, most of them on English Modernism and philosophical books discussing feminism, existentialism and religion. Louis noticed _The Second Sex_ by Simone de Beauvoir prominently displayed with three books by Dr Hardgrave in the largest middle shelf.

There were also a lot of trinkets and pictures on it. Dr Hardgrave accepting her diploma and attending formal functions, several pictures of children and unfamiliar people that resembled Dr Hardgrave. In the corner of the bottom shelf, Louis noticed a large silver coin in a display case with two large X’s on it.

“So, would it be safe to assume that Gemma’s little essay put a wrench in your academic efforts?” Louis said, finally looking at the professor.

“What are you talking about, detective?”

“As far as I know, Gemma’s essay points in the opposite direction your entire academic career was going towards. You put years of effort into propping Virginia Woolf as a beacon for feminism of her time and a voice for every ambitious and creative woman who ever lived, and now…” he licked his lips and crossed his legs casually, “here comes a young woman writing an essay that completely destroys that image. I think you’d be pretty mad about it.”

Dr Hardgrave leaned back in her seat and looked at Louis over the rim of her glasses. “Let me be perfectly clear, Detective Tomlinson. I did not care for Gemma Styles and her silly ideas. It wouldn’t jeopardise me in any way even if she published it. Our field, Humanities, does not have an absolute truth in anything we discuss. We’re not based on exact science, and opposing opinions and research can co-exist. Knowing that Virginia Woolf was primarily concerned about her middle-class and upper-class peers does not erase her feminist contribution.”

She took a deep breath before continuing.

“My only concern with Gemma was her sloppy writing. That’s all. More researchers have come to exact same conclusions as her in the past several years and published books about it. I’m sure she would’ve been among them had she lived. What Gemma lacked was coherency and structure in her writing. That was my only problem with her.”

Louis wrote something in his notepad. “And the fact she attacked your favourite writer had nothing to do with you refusing to grade her?”

Dr Hardgrave shook her head. “I’m a professional, detective. If I pulled my hair every time someone said something I disagree with about my favourite writers, I’d become bald a long time ago.”

“Do you know if others weren’t as professional?”

Dr Hardgrave shrugged. “Teaching staff is exquisite at Hertford College and we take our profession seriously. People are ambitious and would do anything to get ahead. But it’s the students that are far more cunning than professors.”

“Do you have someone in mind, then?”

Dr Hardgrave crossed her arms on her chest. “I didn’t think much about it at the time, but…”

_It was Thursday evening and Dr Hardgrave had a small session with her English majors. She noticed some new faces, though, some stragglers from different departments that liked to listen to her lectures. She didn’t mind, her sessions were open to everyone. In fact, those new faces made her happier than just teaching students who were required to listen to her. More often than not, it was the stragglers that were more interested in what she had to say than her own students._

_That evening she held a small lecture and discussion on Charlotte Brontë and her work. She liked to add more context to a figure they were discussing so she assigned them several long essays and chapters to read for discussion. This was a prelude to their main discussion and lecture on_ Wide Sargasso Sea _by Jean Rhys they were going to have in two weeks._

_She knew they had a lot on their plate, but they were here to learn, not amuse themselves. If they wanted to excel, they had to put in the work. She was hard on them, but they were used to her by now. They were all in their second year and if they managed to live through to now, they were on their way to academic success._

_“Alright, you listened to me and you, hopefully, read your assigned material. Now, we’ll have some of you state your observations about her novels.” she said, sitting on the edge of her desk and looking at the ten-odd students in front of her. She crossed her arms on her chest. “Please, can the first person stand up?”_

_Tristan Snyders raised his hand. Dr Hardgrave nodded at him, and he stood up._

_“Well… my observation for now concerns_ Jane Eyre _. And I ask you, my colleagues, why is it considered a feminist book?” Tristan smiled smugly after he heard some commotion and mutterings from students around him._

_Dr Hardgrave raised her eyebrows at his opening statement but allowed him to continue uninterrupted._

_He raised a hand and pointed to explain his train of thought. “Yes, the main character exemplifies an independent will and motivation for self-employment and thus emancipation but… she says it herself in the end –_ I married him, reader _. Now, why does a strong and independent woman,” he emphasised his last words by slowing his speech like a Greek orator, “who is financially secured, as well, need a man for? What can he provide her that she couldn’t get on her own?”_

_He paused, and looked around at his fellow students. Dr Hardgrave was growing bored. What was he arguing anyway?_

_“She needed social stability.” Tristan nodded to make his speech sink with his audience, but he just looked like a bobble head. “Social connections, and an access to public sphere where she could bring forward her ideas about education. Which, in my opinion, further emphasises that_ Jane Eyre _was not that revolutionary as we like to think. She cements the tried and true truism of her time that women were extensions of the men they married. That there was no true independence and that every woman who wanted to achieve something had to be married. Even to awful men like Rochester, but because he was a man his sins could be forgiven.” Tristan nodded once more._

_There was a loud chuckle two rows behind him. Dr Hardgrave leaned to the side and saw Gemma Styles putting a hand over her mouth, but her eyes were crinkling with amusement._

_“Any comments on that?” she prompted. She was looking directly at Gemma, who moved her hand and blinked rapidly when she noticed all eyes in the room were on her. She cleared her throat and then straightened her posture._

_“So… if I understood you correctly,” she looked at Tristan, ignoring everyone else. “You think that a woman stops being a feminist if she decides to marry?”_

_“Well… if you put it like that.” Tristan mumbled. “Why would she need to marry Rochester otherwise? What’s the purpose of that marriage?”_

_“Because she was in love and she wanted to?” Gemma said, making a face. “_ Jane Eyre _is a testament of female will and motivation to rise above domestic abuse and for women to forge their own path in a world that’s built for men. She stays true to her principles and moral compass every step of the way, even when everything seems to go against her. Jane was the first example of a girl’s coming of age story where she was the main protagonist of_ her _story. It’s called_ Jane Eyre _for a reason, and not Jane and Rochester.”_

_“Well…. What about Rochester’s role in the story? Why was he relevant to Jane?” Tristan tried to argue, but Gemma rolled her eyes at him._

_“He was awful to her, but he had to go through a deep change physically and emotionally to be worthy of Jane. He had to shed his past and become a new man. She didn’t lose any of her independence when she married him. It was_ her _choice. And,” Gemma inclined her head, looking at Tristan patronisingly, “women can still be feminists even if they marry men. Even awful men. That doesn’t negate their activism and beliefs.”_

_Dr Hardgrave rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Yes, thank you, Miss Styles. That was a wonderful rebuttal of a, quite frankly, weak observation on your part, Mr Snyders. I expect you look more deeply into a text, try to see hidden meanings. Or talk to some of your colleagues who have read their assigned material properly.”_

_Tristan looked pale and he pressed his lips together. He slowly sat down and clasped his hands in front of him on the desk._

_An hour later Dr Hardgrave gathered her things and papers, and headed to the main doors of the college. Night was unusually warm so she unbuttoned her blazer. When she stepped out of the building into the courtyard, she noticed that Gemma and Tristan were the only ones there, talking in the shadows. Dr Hardgrave wanted to walk away quickly to give them privacy, but then she heard Tristan’s angry tone._

_“How could you be such a bitch?”_

_She was rooted to her spot and she moved back, hiding behind the growing ivy next to the entrance wall. Gemma was pulling at the straps of her backpack, and looked nervous._

_“It was just a discussion, Tristan.” She said, her voice soft against Tristan’s rage. His face was comically red._

_“Well, it made me look bad. Why do you always have to have an answer to everything?” Tristan said, flailing his arms about like an angry bird._

_“I’m sorry.” Gemma said, looking right at Tristan. “It’s not a big deal, alright.”_

_“Dr Hardgrave didn’t think that and the other students didn’t. I’m a Snyders, Gemma. Do you know what that means?”_

_Gemma raised her head and jutted her chin defiantly. “No. What?”_

_“It means that I’m the best. That I have a reputation to uphold.” He said through his teeth, like a threat. “I don’t get lectured by silly nobodies. I don’t get made fun of.”_

_Gemma flipped her hair off her shoulder. “First time for everything, right?”_

_Tristan stepped towards her, grabbing her shoulders. “Do you always have to be such a bloody know-it-all? You’re fucking nothing, you hear me? You came from nothing, and you’ll be nothing. Don’t let this university thing fool you – people like you are only here to fulfil a quota.”_

_“People like me?” Gemma repeated, struggling against his hold. “Let me go, Tristan!”_

_He squeezed her a final time before stepping back. “You’re so stupid, Gemma. You’ll regret ever making me look bad.”_

“Was Tristan known for his temper?” Louis asked, his pen busy scribbling down notes. “Did you notice that happening again or before that night?”

“No. If it did happen, it was off campus grounds.” Dr Hardgrave looked down at her clasped hands. “Tristan was a polite young man and a great student. He never made any trouble.”

 _They never do_ , Louis thought and took more notes, crossing things and connecting arrows. “Thank you.”

“I know what you’re thinking.” She said, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “Why didn’t I say anything earlier? I didn’t think it mattered, I thought it was a one-time thing and since Gemma never came forward with any accusations, I didn’t think it was anything serious. Tristan Snyders was from an influential family and we never had any problems with him.”

“Well… you told me now. It might make a difference.”

“Twenty years later?” Dr Hardgrave raised an eyebrow. 

“ _I’m_ also a professional, Dr Hardgrave.” Louis said, with an easy smile. “If you tell me the truth, I can solve Gemma’s case.”

Dr Hardgrave nodded, gripping her fingers tighter, so her knuckles went white.

“Do you know if any of the other professors might have more information on Gemma? Or Tristan Snyders?”

Dr Hardgrave sighed, taking off her glasses and wiping them with a cloth. “Our students are assigned personal tutors. They discuss future prospects and academic life with our students, or any other concerns they might have. It’s like a university scheduled therapy session.”

“Who was Gemma’s personal tutor?”

“Dr Roland Bracque.” Dr Hardgrave answered, putting her glasses back on. “He and I were young professors then, so we were assigned more menial things. Working more with students, those sort of things. As you move up in college, you focus more on your research and lectures. Not so much on students.”

“Of course.” Louis said with a tight smile. “Thank you for your time, professor.”

Dr Hardgrave nodded at him, not leaving her seat, and glancing at her bookshelves. Louis put his things in his trench coat pockets and left her office. Before he left he saw in the large mirror of her office she put down her glasses again and rubbed her temples, like she was getting a migraine.

 _Out of all feelings, regret is the one that stays with us the longest_ , he thought before closing the door behind him.

He knocked on a door several minutes later.

“Come in.” a deep voice said from the inside. Louis entered gingerly and stood up straight.

“Dr Roland Bracque, I presume?” Louis asked, looking at a man sitting behind a sleek desk with a laptop open and several knickknacks placed thoughtfully on the table. The man had dark silver hair, impressively large shoulders and a charming smile full of teeth. He was dressed for his age, but also very modern, judging by the blazer draped over a spare chair in the corner of the room.

“You knocked on _my_ door, haven’t you?” he said good-naturedly and stood up to shake Louis’ hand. “How can I help you?”

“I’m detective Louis Tomlinson from CID in London.”

“I suspected,” Dr Bracque said with an even larger smile. “you’re too mature to be a first year student and I haven’t seen you in any of my classes so…”

Louis briefly raised an eyebrow at that, but took out his phone and notepad discreetly. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve been in university.” He pressed play on his phone. “But I’m here to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course. Ask anything.” Dr Bracque said, turning to a large closet on his left. “Do you want anything to drink?” He took out a bottle of wine and a bottle of water.

“I’m on duty, sir.”

Dr Bracque looked at the bottle of wine and then chuckled. “Oh, yes. I’m so stupid. You won’t mind if I do?”

“No, I don’t mind.” Louis answered and waited for Dr Bracque to settle himself back in his office chair and sip on his glass of wine. “Do you remember Gemma Styles?”

“Gemma Styles?” Dr Bracque said between sips, “well, yes. She was one of my students. Feels like a lifetime ago. She was murdered, right?”

Louis nodded. “We’re reopening her case.”

Dr Bracque left his wine glass to the edge of his desk and looked at Louis with deep concern. “I remember Gemma fondly, even though we only spoke several times during a semester. That girl had a very bright future ahead of her. It’s a shame what happened.”

Louis nodded in agreement. “You seem like you cared about her a lot.”

“Well, I cared about all of my students equally.” Dr Bracque replied and leaned forward on his elbows on his desk. “But most of them were entitled little pricks, if you pardon my French. Privilege runs wild in these halls, detective, and silver spoons are handed like candy.”

“Has Gemma ever talked to you about some problems she had academically?”

“Of course, but it wasn’t anything serious. She just had some organisation issues. She had a part-time job and most of her professors didn’t understand the life of a working student. They just piled a lot of tasks on her and expected her to perform brilliantly, even better than those privileged shits who never had to work to support themselves during university.”

“Sounds like you understood her.” Louis commented, making notes and looking up at the professor from time to time.

“I did.” Dr Bracque leaned back on his chair and stretched his arms on his desk. He took a deep breath. “I came from a working class family, too. Had to study and work for most of my studies and it wasn’t easy. I knew what she was going through and I tried to talk to some of her professors, to ease up her workload, but most of them weren’t as understanding.”

Louis nodded and shifted his legs under the chair. “Did she have any problems with any of them? More than just finishing her assignments?”

Dr Bracque shrugged. “Not to my knowledge.”

“What about other students? Did she tell you something about having trouble with her colleagues?”

“No.” Dr Bracque answered, with a confused tone. “Do you have a suspect, detective? One among the students?”

Louis licked his lips and put his notepad to the side. “I can’t tell you that.”

Dr Bracque nodded. “Yes, of course.” He said and then smiled nervously. “I can’t imagine some of my colleagues being able to kill a student. Or a student killing their peer. It’s unimaginable.”

“People do unimaginable things all the time, professor.” Louis said with a tight smile and picked up his pen again. “Do you remember another student, Tristan Snyders?”

“Did something happen to him?”

“No. He was in the same year as Gemma, and they went to the same classes. What do you know about him? What was he like as a student?”

“I wasn’t his tutor, so I only know what I saw in my lectures.” Dr Bracque said, scratching his nose. “He was opinionated, that’s for sure, and he was very smart and proud. He always had a question for me and we’d always take extra time to discuss whatever he asked. But he was a nice, polite young student and I had no problems with him.”

“Thank you, professor.” Louis said, making final notes and closing his notepad. “You’ve been a great help.”

“No problem,” Dr Bracque said, flashing Louis with another wide smile and stood up. “I hope you’ll find Gemma’s killer this time. It’s a shame she had to wait twenty years for justice.”

Louis nodded. “Well, I hope so too.” He glanced at a statue of a ship on professor’s desk. It was sizeable and took most of the space on the right corner near to Louis.

Dr Bracque leaned against his desk when he noticed what Louis was looking at. “That’s my pride and joy, detective. It was a gift from my parents when I graduated. My father wanted me to go into Navy but I chose Academia instead.” He said, and stroked the flank of the ship. His finger travelled all the way to the pointy end of it and then he fluttered the sails made of cotton. “I grew to love the craftsmanship.”

Louis hummed. “All I got from my parents were sensible shoes for patrols. A great gift, but I think I’d like something pretty like this for my desk.”

Dr Bracque’s brow furrowed briefly but his smile wiped any remains of hurt caused by Louis’ offhand comment. “For an antique turn-of-the-century model of first ship of the line, yes, I guess it’s pretty.”

“You certainly take good care of it.” Louis said, glancing from the ship to the professor. Then he looked up at a framed diploma on the wall.

Actually, upon looking at it closely, it was a recognition award for Dr Bracque’s feminist contributions. It wasn’t an outstanding award, but it looked important enough for him to frame it.

Dr Bracque perked up again when he noticed what caught Louis’ attention. “That’s not really that important.” He said with an easy smile, just begging to talk about it. “In the late 90’s I switched my research field to feminist writing. It was quite unusual, especially for a man to try and write about women’s experience… but I apparently did a good enough job so some feminist groups gave me this recognition diploma.” He said, looking at it reverently, as if it was his firstborn. “As a feminist ally, of course. Giving me a medal and money as they usually did would be quite scandalous. Their words not mine.” He winked at Louis. “Though, I’d happily accept both.”

Louis scratched his chin in thought. “Feminist writing, you say?” He glanced at his notes for show, because he already knew his line of action. “Isn’t that Dr. Hardgrave’s field?”

“Yes.” Dr Bracque’s smile faltered momentarily. “What does Colleen have to do with it?”

“Nothing. It’s funny how- how a man received an award for merely switching a field, when his female colleague dedicated her entire career to it and doesn’t have anything to frame in her office.”

“Well, I don’t think so.” Dr Bracque snapped. “I just wrote a paper, it was the organisation that decided to give me a diploma. It’s not my fault Colleen didn’t produce anything of value since she came to the university.”

“Of course…” Louis said, with a softer tone. “It’s not your fault, I’m just pointing out the irony of it. It hasn’t caused any frictions between you?”

“No.” Dr Bracque answered too abruptly for it to sound sincere. Louis pressed his lips together and wrote on his notepad.

Dr Bracque took a breath when Louis didn’t say anything else, and clapped once. “Well… I must finish some of my paper work and arrange my presentation notes, so…”

“Yes, of course.” Louis said, standing up and finding himself face to face with Dr Bracque. “You’ve been a great help, professor.”

Dr Bracque waved his hand in dismissal and smiled widely once more. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Not a problem. If the CID needs anything, I’d be happy to help. Gemma was a dear student and I’d want to see her case solved.”

Louis nodded and shook Dr Bracque’s hand on his way out.

*~*

“Look at this.” Louis said, pointing at a document on his laptop screen. Sanaya leaned down, moving her hair behind her ear. She put her stack of papers on Louis’ desk. “Tristan Snyders was arrested for drunk driving in 2001 and a disorderly conduct resulting in a fight in 2005. The victim had three cracked ribs and a broken nose. Both times fines were paid or Snyders negotiated a pay-off outside of court.”

“So much for a good boy who never caused problems.” Sanaya commented, picking her papers again and leaning against Louis’ desk. “Are we bringing him in?”

“Of course.” Louis said with a satisfied smile. He crossed his arms on his chest. “It’ll be nice to scare the privileged little fucker.”

“You don’t like rich people, do you?”

Louis shrugged. “Only rich people like rich people. But even then they have to be the right kind of rich.” He clicked on the keyboard and exited the criminal database. He inhaled deeply and looked at Sanaya who looked at him with a sassy upturn of her mouth. “I’m guessing that face means you won’t come with me?”

She shook her head. “You took the case, remember? ‘You’ll solve it on your own’ were the exact words you said.”

Louis groaned. “Damn it. Why do I always do this to myself?” he muttered under his breath. He was reaching for his badge and wallet when his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Woah, picking up at the first ring!” the happy voice of his sister greeted him, “You almost startled me!”

“You were the one who called _me_.” Louis said, “And you were startled because you have the nerves of a wild rabbit. Which is to say too much.”

“Shut up, Lou.” Lila said fondly, and then clicked her tongue. “Are you busy? Did I interrupt some important detective work?”

“No. Just looking over some new evidence.” Louis said, and folded himself in his chair, getting more comfortable. “Nothing to be fussed over. Yet.”

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” Lila said, sounding more like a statement than a question. Louis was looking over a possible suspect which was a big deal, but so was talking to his baby sister.

“No. Don’t worry. Why are you calling anyway?”

“Oh, right.” Lila cleared her throat, “what are you doing next week?”

“Working. Possibly sleeping if I get this case solved quick. Why?”

“I’m organising this gathering, like a small party of sorts, and I was wondering if you would come?” her voice became higher slightly which meant only one thing – she was hiding something.

“Why does it sound like you’re hiding something?” Louis asked, playing with a pen on his desk. “Is there a secret agenda?”

“No, of course not.” Her voice got even higher, only dogs were registering her final words. “You know how I got that new job after my maternity leave ended? I’m just trying to suck up to some of my new colleagues, like, they’re all so posh and you’d probably hate them, but I need some support from my big brother, okay?”

Lila using words like big brother usually meant that she was a step before outright begging which was never her style unless she desperately needed help. But Lila also never cared about what other people thought so why would she want to do it now?

“Okay, I’ll be there.” Louis said, already mentally clearing up his schedule. “Just text me the time and date.

“Oh, great!” Lila said, and Louis heard something fall and crash on her side. “Oh, shit. Jeremy! Thank you so much, Lou. You won’t regret it.”

“I’m sure I will.” He briefly tried to imagine himself sipping drinks with some posh people discussing US and Iran politics and cold shivers ran down his spine. But he’d do so for his sister. Even if being a new parent made her act so out of character. His mum told him that she was out of sorts for years because she couldn’t get used to being a parent. “Pregnancy brain is a walk in the park compared to new parent brain.” She’d said.

Louis talked to Lila some more, getting updates about Jeremy and then he finally hung up. He took his wallet and badge, and headed to the door.

“Would you call yourself successful, Mr. Snyders?”

Tristan Snyders sat opposite Louis in the cold and grey interrogation room. When Louis arrested him, he was expecting a pale arrogant executive, his muscles (if he bothered to train) build only on steroids and gym, and not any actual labour. Instead he was met with a skinny man with a balding spot and grey streaks down whatever was left of his hair. He had a slight beer belly which made him look like a caricature rather than a person.

The chairs were plastic and uncomfortable but Snyders was sitting still, defiantly, like he was enjoying himself being brought into CID and then kept waiting for half an hour.

“Yes. In the traditional sense.” Snyders answered, leaning forward and looking at Louis with his beady dark eyes that reminded Louis of a sinister rat.

“Born into a family of bankers, going into investment banking yourself, two children…” Louis counted, looking at Snyder’s file in his hands. He feigned being impressed, but Snyders didn’t take it.

“Anything in there about my new boat in Ibiza?” Snyders said mockingly, his smile making his eyes slit even closer and making him look more arrogant.

“No. But there’s a bit about your two divorces…” Snyders’ smile dropped, “ _and_ a DUI _and_ a disorderly conduct resulting in one person ending up in a hospital. So… I guess you just run out of luck a bit there.”

“Look,” Snyders said, raising his arms slightly in defence, “those were some bad choices on my part and I was fully exonerated. I even made a deal out of court with the guy and he accepted it! Why are you bothering me with that shit again?”

Louis closed his file and sat opposite Snyders, looking him in the eyes. “Yes, you’ve _successfully_ made your problems disappear. I’m only wondering what else have you successfully swept under the rug? Or put in your closet? Whatever metaphor you prefer.”

Snyders squinted at Louis in confusion. “What are you talking about? I’ve done nothing.”

“Let me jog your memory, Snyders. Does the name Gemma Styles ring any bells?” Louis crossed his arms and leaned on the table again.

Snyders looked at Louis, his eyes widening briefly and then he looked away. “No.”

“No?” Louis raised his eyebrows and then opened Snyder’s file again. “Let me ask you this then, how does an English major end up as an investment banker?”

“Rebellion?” Snyders said sarcastically. “Had a phase to get out of my system, realised it was stupid and took over the family business. I had nothing to do with Gemma’s murder.”

“Hey, hey.” Louis said patronisingly, “I’m just trying to chat with you here. I’m not accusing you of anything.”

Snyders was looking at a spot to the left of Louis and scratched his jaw. “What do you want to know?” he said after a moment of pause.

“Cooperating. I like that.” Louis said with a mocking smile. “You and Gemma weren’t the best of friends, I gather?”

“We just went to the same classes. I didn’t know her that well.” He clasped his hands together and laid them on the table without looking at Louis. His body language smelled of guilty conscience and Louis was waiting for the right moment to catch him.

“You had a fight, right? A month before she died?”

Snyders shrugged. “I guess. She was a know-it-all, always trying to make herself look good in front of the professors. But she was a stupid bitch.”

“How so?”

“Got herself killed, didn’t she?”

“Was that her fault?” Louis said, inclining his head to the side. “Where were you the night she died?”

“How would I know? That was twenty years ago.”

“Humour me and think, Snyders.” Louis said, “your daddy won’t save you this time. Murder accusation doesn’t just go away.”

Snyders shrugged again and crossed his arms on his chest, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t know. I wasn’t doing very well in my studies so my father was making me feel bad about my choice in university. He insisted I switch schools before it was too late. And… I spent a lot of that time back and forth between my dorm and my family house in Lake District. So…probably on a train ride.”

“I’ll check that.”

“Be my guest.” Snyders said and took a deep breath. “But it’s not me who you should be talking with. I didn’t like Gemma, that’s true, but I’d never kill her. I didn’t care about her enough to want that.”

“Do you know someone who did? Who had it in for her?”

“Well…”

_Gemma was sitting opposite him and drinking her after-work coffee. One of her hands played with tall paper cup while she smiled coyly at Tristan. He leaned toward her and smiled invitingly._

_“I’m sorry again for what happened the other week.” Tristan said, turning on his charm, “I was just stressed from coursework and my dad is hounding me to change my major so… I lashed out. I’m sorry.”_

_“That’s alright.” Gemma said, sipping her drink. “I didn’t take it personally.”_

_“It wasn’t an excuse, but I hope we can move on. I really like our talks after and you’re a fierce debating opponent, Styles.” Tristan winked and Gemma chuckled._

_“I’m trying. But if you were worried about us still being friends, don’t. It’s fine.”_

_“Gemma?” someone called from the register counter. They both turned and saw a red-headed girl with pierced nose stare at Gemma with barely concealed disdain. “Someone needs to count the cash.” That someone obviously not being her who was already at the counter._

_Gemma turned to Tristan and rolled her eyes. “Well… duty calls. We have to close up. Sorry.”_

_“That’s alright.” Tristan said, glaring at the red-head briefly, “We can meet up here tomorrow and go to the library? When does your shift end?”_

_“I’m working the morning shift tomorrow. Evening classes.” Gemma said, standing up. “Maybe after?”_

_“Sure.” Tristan watched her go and started to pick up his books to put them in the bag. His entire folder opened and all of his assignments spilled all over the sticky coffee house floor. He saw Gemma rush over to help, but he raised his hand and told her with amusement: “I got this.” She hesitated but then assumed her position behind the register and began to count the bills._

_Tristan stalled collecting his things a bit, so he could at least spend more time in the coffee house with Gemma. He liked her enough to consider her a friend. She wasn’t someone Tristan would normally spend time with or consider talking to if he didn’t think they could benefit him somehow, but it was a nice change. It spiced Tristan’s social life, if anything._

_While he liked Gemma, he didn’t like her co-worker who was lazy and as rude as she could be. He went to Gemma’s coffee house often enough to know the girl had some serious attitude to match her street looks. Her name was Christine but she liked to be called Cris. Few weeks ago she came to work with teal streaks in her hair and nobody said anything._ Talk about unprofessionalism _, Tristan scoffed in his head. But she was also the owner’s niece of a distant cousin so they couldn’t fire her even if she walked in with a mesh shirt and no bra on._

_He noticed Gemma’s brow furrowed. She counted the bills again and then looked at the stack of change she piled together. “There’s two hundred missing.” She said quietly through her teeth but Tristan still heard her. He was hunched under the table and trying to catch a fly-away paper so he was hidden from their view._

_“What?” Cris said, stretching the vowel lazily._

_“There’s two hundred pounds missing, Cris.” Gemma said, this time more loud. “I counted the money half an hour ago and again now, and there’s money missing from the register.”_

_“So, you think I stole it?” Cris said, her voice sharp and defensive. Tristan couldn’t see much from his position but he assumed she crossed her arms on her chest and cocked her head as she did when she wanted to appear intimidating._

_“You were the only one here after I went to talk to my friend.” Gemma said calmly but Tristan knew she would be raging inside. Gemma never showed anger too often. Tristan had seen her overwhelmingly happy, sad or focused, but anger wasn’t one of Gemma’s default emotions._

_“Maybe your boyfriend took it.” Cris sounded bored._

_“He’s not my boyfriend.”_

_“He acts like he is. He’s here all the time.”_

_Gemma said nothing to that, and Tristan held his breath. Gemma turned her focus back on the problem at hand. “Cris, give the money back.”_

_“Or what?” Cris said, and when Tristan stood up again he saw her play with a strand of her hair and obnoxiously chew gum._

_“I’ll tell the boss. He’ll find out money’s missing anyway and I’m not covering up for you anymore.”_

_Cris rolled her eyes and picked up her backpack behind the counter. “Whatever.” She said and walked to the door._

_Tristan caught Gemma’s eye and she bit her lip nervously and stored the money in a separate envelope before going to the back room._

“Two days later, Cris stormed in on her day off and started yelling at Gemma for getting her fired.” Snyders said, shrugging. “Gemma pulled her aside, the café was full so everyone saw it when Cris pushed Gemma, and took an ice pick from behind the counter and threatened her.”

Louis raised his eyebrows and made notes, both physically and mentally. _Gemma’s wound had a distinct round shape on her head,_ he thought _. That could be the murder weapon_. “Nepotism doesn’t see past missing money, huh?”

Snyders shrugged again and put a smug smile on his face. “Some people don’t know how to work their own family in their favour.”

As Snyders was talking more, Louis’ phone vibrated. He left it on the table and quickly glanced at who would be dumb enough to disturb him while he was interviewing a witness. And a possible suspect. Snyders could be lying for all Louis knew.

A familiar name flashed on the screen with a link added after a short message. _For the best detective in the world_

Harry.

Louis noticed the link was to a spotify playlist. He smiled to himself, remembering their conversation about Fleetwood Mac and Harry was finally keeping up on his promise.

“Cris was bloody mad, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was the one who killed Gemma.” Snyders was still talking when Louis tuned back into the one-sided conversation.

“Thank you for your input, Mr. Snyders.” Louis said, overtly politely and picking up his papers and Snyders’ file. “I’ll call you if we need you. Or you can call us if you remember something else that’s important.”

Snyders nodded. He took his sweet time getting up and he smiled crookedly at Louis at the exit.

 _The bastard probably thinks he’s off the hook_. _He’s hiding something_ , Louis thought as he glanced once again at Snyders’ file in his hands, _and I’ll be damned if I don’t find out what._

*~*

Louis took deep breaths as he buried his head in his hands, leaning on his elbows at his desk. He was one of the last people from his team left in the office and he was making the most of it by looking over evidence for Emily Dawson’s murder. He was looking over the pictures from the crime scene, the autopsy report and the log of Emily’s belongings which were stored in the evidence room.

He didn’t want to walk all the way down to the basement to take a better look over Emily’s things (he couldn’t take the evidence out to his office – CID’s policy) so he relied on the list and the pictures for now. He knew it was a bit sloppy of him and unprofessional, but he was alone and nobody could tell him off.

Besides, if he found something substantial, he’d go downstairs to check.

So far, the case seemed pretty dead. He moved pictures aside to take a look at the witness testimonials. It was mostly Emily’s family, few friends at university and colleagues at the café she worked at who talked to the police. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The case was eerily similar to Gemma Styles’ case though, and it gave Louis a headache.

_You will not be another Gemma. You will not be forgotten for twenty years._

Louis’ phone buzzed on the table and he picked it up with a yawn. “Hello?”

“Hello? Louis?” he heard a familiar rasp on the other side.

“Hi, Harry.” Louis said, and leaned back in his chair. He felt his headache disappear slowly.

“Am I calling at the wrong time?”

“No, it’s fine. Nobody’s here.”

“Then it must be pretty late.” Harry said, and Louis scrambled to keep him on the line.

“No, it’s still early for us. Everyone is just busy doing other things.” Louis glanced about, he saw some of his other colleagues he wasn’t friendly with work at their desks or walk to the kitchenette. None of his actual partners were in the building - even Smithy was gone.

“Oh, so you can talk?” Harry asked, and Louis smiled.

“Yeah, as long as you don’t ask big questions. I’m pretty knackered from this case.”

“I’m sorry. Is it Gemma’s case?”

“No.” Louis said, looking at Emily Dawson’s photos. “It’s another case I’m working on.”

“Okay.” Harry said, and then paused for a moment. “How’s Gemma’s case going?” When Louis didn’t answer immediately, Harry jumped in. “Sorry. I… I don’t want to bother you with that.”

“It’s alright, Harry.”

“I know I’m annoying but…”

“It’s going good.” Louis said, still unsure if he should be telling Harry even that. “You’re not being annoying.”

“Okay. If you say so.” Harry’s tone turned playful. “Did you get my playlist?”

“Yes.”

“Did you listen to it?”

Louis sighed. “Will you hate me if I say no?”

“I’d rather you say _not yet_.” Harry chuckled, “but no pressure. I hope you listen to it soon. I put some of my favourites on it.”

“Then it’ll be played the second I come home tonight. What gems can I expect? Hopefully you didn’t mean to put me to sleep with a bunch of ballads?”

“Ballads are great, Louis. They speak to the soul.” Harry said, his tone teasing. “But it’s a mix of everything. Some upbeat songs and some ballads. Fleetwood Mac the most, but some other songs I thought you might like.”

Louis hummed. “Sounds good.”

“So…” Harry stretched the vowel, “how are you? Besides working hard and being the best detective in the world?”

Louis laughed. “If you’re trying to suck up to me to get your sister’s case solved faster, then it won’t work.”

“Darn it.” Harry said, then giggled. “My plan was thwarted immediately. That’s what I get for going against _the best detective in the world_.”

“The best detective might need some bribery.” Louis said, yawning a bit. “Possibly in litres of coffee and food, just to get me from passing out.”

“Is it that hard?” Harry sounded concerned. “I mean, your cases? Are they always hard?”

“Every job is hard until you solve it.” Louis said and folded himself more comfortably in his chair. “But I’m also working on several cases at the same time, so I might be overworking myself a bit.”

Harry was silent on the other line.

“Harry?”

“I’m here.” He said, his tone sad, but not pitying. “Just… take care of yourself, Louis. The world needs you.”

“You mean, _you_ need me to solve your sister’s case?”

“Yes.” Harry said, “But I’m talking about more than that. Just… take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, okay.” Louis said softly. “I will, Harry.”

“Good. I’ll have to go now, my roommate and I are going out to dinner. Our fridge is empty.”

Louis chuckled. “Mind if I join you? I’m sure I’ll be facing the same fate when I come home.”

“Will you?” Harry’s tone was weirdly hopeful.

Louis glanced at the clock on the wall and then at the photos and evidence on his table. He wanted to but couldn’t. “No, no. I’m just teasing you. I’ll pick up something on the way home. Thanks for the offer.”

“If you want, we can grab something to eat some other time?” Harry said, and Louis’ heart skipped a beat at the implication. “Just the two of us?”

“Umm… Yeah, sure.” Louis mumbled. “We can discuss the case and… stuff.”

“Oh.” Harry’s enthusiasm deflated. “Yeah, sure. Discuss the case. Of course.”

“Alright. Then, go to your dinner, Harry.” Louis said, moving away from the awkwardness, “Don’t let the roommate wait.”

“Yeah. Bye, Louis.”

“Bye.”

Louis hung up and stared at the phone in his hand. He hoped it was just his exhaustion causing hallucinations, but he was fairly certain he got asked out.

He _could not_ go out with Harry. It just… can’t happen.

He collected the photos and papers on his desk, putting them in a yellow case file and placing it in a drawer, and promptly locking it. He picked up his bag, put on his trench coat and started his long journey home where he played Harry’s playlist.

And listened to it to the end.

*~*

“Louis! You came!” Lila greeted him with the biggest smile and wrapped her arms around him as soon as he stepped over the threshold. He squeezed her tiny frame back and found himself smiling - the hardships of his job dissipating into thin air - as they always did when he was around family.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Louis said, raising his eyebrows and giving his jacket to Lila to put it away.

Lila inclined her head while hanging his jacket and pursed her lips. “I knew you would, but you’ve been busy last few weeks so I thought you had something more important to do.”

Louis leaned in to kiss her temple. “And not have a dinner with my sister when she needs me? Who do you think I am?”

Lila shrugged and crossed her arms on her chest. “Hold that thought until after the dinner.”

“Why?”

She winked and led him to her kitchen where people were chattering and the smell of food got more potent.

Lila’s kitchen was open-plan and connected to her spacious dining room so when Louis entered the kitchen, he had the perfect view of everyone who gathered at the dining table behind the kitchen island.

Lila’s husband Jeremy sat at the head of the table and he was talking to a dark-haired woman on his right. She was sitting with her back to Louis so he couldn’t recognise her. Near her was a black man Louis also didn’t recognise and opposite them were their cousin Anna and her girlfriend Patricia. On the other end of the table, next to Patricia was another unfamiliar man who was making Patricia laugh at something he was telling her.

When Lila and Louis came closer, the entire table moved to look at them and Louis felt like a deer in the headlights. He knew most of the people here, he was at his sister’s house, yet there was something off. Like he was missing a final puzzle piece.

“Louis, let me introduce you to my co-workers. This is Constance.” Lila said and stood behind the dark-haired woman who Louis noticed had a lovely dark complexion and a tasteful burgundy dress that complimented her skin tone. He shook her hand and smiled. “And this is her husband Davon.”

Louis shook the man’s tight grip. He noticed Davon’s biceps slightly bulging under his blue shirt when he took Louis’ hand and Louis assumed the man lost his sense of strength with how much time he spent at the gym.

Then Lila moved to the man on the opposite end of the table and put a hand on his shoulder. “And this is Peter. The baby in the company.” She said, making Constance and Peter chuckle at the inside joke. Peter stood up and offered his hand to Louis.

“Nice to meet you.” Louis said, shaking Peter’s hand. When Louis took a good look at him, Peter was a striking vision. He was tall, with a head full of dark brown hair that curled slightly at the end, he was tan (naturally tan, like he spent every day in the sun or took a lot of vacations) and he had bright blue eyes.

Louis was always a bit weak for the dark hair and light eyes combo in men, and when Peter smiled when Louis sat next to him, something seized Louis’ gut. Not entirely pleasantly.

When Lila and Louis were seated, conversations picked up again. Peter delivered the punchline to Patricia and she laughed jovially, before she turned to Anna and repeated the joke to her. Peter smiled widely at them and turned to Louis.

“Lila told me you’re a detective?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Louis said, leaning back in his chair.

“That must be exciting.” Peter said, leaning on his elbows and closer to Louis. “Solving murders, shooting at bad guys.”

Louis chuckled. “You watch too much TV. My job is nowhere near as exciting. All I do most of the time is stare at my computer or read paperwork to put together evidence.”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t believe it. You don’t strike me as someone who would want to sit behind a desk all day.”

“Like you?”

Peter winked. “I’m a market analyst for social media.” He leaned closer to Louis, “In my field, that’s an exciting job.” He leaned back and took a sip of his wine. “There’s no shooting at people and yelling at bad guys in interrogation rooms, but someone has to know what kids these days like and sell a bunch of shit to them.”

“As long as you’re not selling them drugs.” Louis quipped.

Peter laughed. “I’m selling them smartphones and junk food. Isn’t that the same?”

Louis grinned but didn’t say anything.

While Louis was struck dumb when he first saw Peter, he slowly relaxed in his company. Peter was charming, polite, and he listened to everyone that talked to him with interest. He regularly checked if Louis wanted to drink more wine or if he liked his food. He mingled with people quite well, even though he met them for the first time.

Peter was confident, handsome and educated. Yet, Louis was not interested. It became obvious when a conversation about relationships was brought up at the table.

“Before you get married, nobody actually tells you how difficult it is.” Constance said, moving a strand of hair behind her ear, “especially after you get kids. At one point we might’ve seen each other for five minutes in a day. Kiss and see you later, or kiss and goodnight.”

“What did you do?” Lila asked, leaning her chin on her intertwined hands like curious little girl.

“Scheduled dates.” Davon said with a smile, patting Constance on her forearm. “One day a week or a fortnight, we go on a date. I know it doesn’t sound romantic but it really helped. To get out of the house and have fun.” 

Lila giggled at that. She looked over at Louis and Peter. “I must say, I envy single people sometimes. It must be great to do whatever you want and be with whomever you want.”

“Of course.” Peter smiled cheekily, playing with his glass of wine. “But I wouldn’t mind scheduled dates as well. Put a lot of pressure off your shoulders.”

“How long have you been single for, Peter?” Lila asked, her stare was intense when she looked at Louis then at Peter, like she was insinuating something.

“Too long, in my opinion. I’d like to have what you guys have.”

“Oh, isn’t that sweet.” Lila said, with a wide grin. “But we’re just a bunch of old grumps who settled. Just ask Louis, he’s been in our company for too long as well. Just as single as you.”

And that’s when the lightbulb turned on in Louis’ head. _Oh, Lila…_

“It is _because_ of you that I am single.” Louis said, with a wink. “Why would I want to copy your dysfunctionality?”

“Louis.” Lila said, with an exasperated tone.

“Just telling the truth, little sister. I’m quite happy being single.” He looked meaningfully at Lila, slightly inclining his head so she’d get the message and back off.

She said to Peter: “He’s just joking. I think he’s actually jealous.”

Louis rolled his eyes and took his wine glass so he had something to occupy his mouth with and not start a fight with his sister in a room full of people.

“Well, isn’t it a bit difficult dating a policeman?” Patricia said out of the blue, looking curiously at Louis with her big brown eyes. “With the long hours and unpredictable schedule. That’s why most officers are either divorced or single. I read it in the Guardian the other day.”

“Well, I’m sure there are lots of reasons for that. But it’s not why _I’m_ single.” Louis answered, slightly miffed to be put on the spot.

“He’s always talking about how his career is a big cock blocker.” Lila jumped in before Louis could open his mouth again. “Long hours, unpredictable schedule. But I call bullshit.”

“Do you kiss your son with that mouth?” Louis said, making several people giggle. Lila raised her finger again at him with a silly grin on her face. She looked just like when they were kids, when she got mad at him for teasing her.

“He’s just scared of more responsibility.” She said, looking at everyone at the table and then turned her eyes on Louis. “Admit it, you’re an emotionally constipated Peter Pan.”

Louis raised his hands in defence. “Alright, I’m feeling a bit attacked right now. But to answer your question,” he turned to Patricia and put his hand on the table, “I just got a promotion few months ago and I’m trying to get used to my new schedule and workload.” He licked his lips briefly.

“There’s a number of reasons why relationships don’t work out and blaming it all on a job a person is doing is unfair. I’m sure it plays a role, but if people are willing to work then I don’t see why policemen or _detectives_ wouldn’t have great marriages.”

“So, you’re not completely opposed to romance, are you?” Lila said, her eyes slightly glistening with warmth. She was still looking hopefully between Louis and Peter.

“Well… no, I suppose.” Louis mumbled. He looked at Peter to see his reaction. He was still smiling pleasantly as he did the entire evening.

“So, you’re just waiting for the right time and the right person.” Lila added.

“Well…”

“That’s so sweet.” Anna said, almost squealing. She looked over at her girlfriend and took her hand in hers.

Before Louis could say anything else, Lila stood up. “Well…” she clapped her hands awkwardly, and when every pair of eyes landed on her she smiled widely like the perfect host. “Is anyone for a cup of coffee?”

There was a chorus of agreements and people saying how they liked theirs and the conversation was done. Louis felt like he got stuck in quick sand and instead of helping him out, his sister pushed Peter in with him.

He felt Peter’s interested stare on himself. And it didn’t leave him until the end of the evening.

Just as Louis predicted, when the guests started to leave, Peter cornered him in the hallway on his way out.

“It was nice to meet you, Louis.” He said with an easy smile. It made Louis so uneasy. 

“Likewise.” He said, offering a hand for a handshake. Peter looked slightly disappointed but he took it anyway. He slightly squeezed and took his time letting Louis go, caressing Louis’ palm to the tip of his fingers. He still wore _that_ smile.

“I would really like to see you again.” Peter said, putting on his jacket and his eyes not leaving Louis’.

“That would be nice.” Louis said, buttoning up his trench coat. “But I can’t, I’m sorry.”

Peter’s smiled faded and he took half a step back from Louis. “Ah… I see. Is it something I said?”

“No, no.” Louis was quick to reassure him. Nobody that beautiful should look so dejected. “But I meant what I said at the dinner. I need to wrap my head around my career and work. It’d be unfair to bring someone in my life when I’m not sure if I can make time for them. For a proper relationship.”

Peter nodded in understanding. “I get it. But… when you do, you can call me.” He took out his phone and gave it to Louis.

“Sure.” Louis said and typed his number in. Then he gave his to Peter. He pocketed his phone casually, giving Louis one last smile and then squeezed past him and went out on the street.

Louis stood back, waiting for the last guests to leave. He finally saw Lila walking out Constance and Davon. He said goodbye to them, shaking Davon’s hand and hugging Constance briefly. Lila waved at them as they walked down the pathway to the street and closed the door behind. She came face to face with a slightly angry Louis.

“Peter is nice, isn’t he?”

Louis merely rolled his eyes and clicked with his tongue. “Yeah, he’s nice.”

“Are you going to see him again? I think he likes you.” Lila said with a barely concealed enthusiasm.

Louis gave her a look. “Why did you set this dinner up, Lila?”

“I told you, to get to know my co-workers.” She said, but she avoided Louis’ eye.

“Bullshit.” Louis said, nearly spitting. “You looked pretty cosy with them already, like you’ve known each other for years. You didn’t have to suck up to them at all.”

“No, no I didn’t.” Lila sighed and crossed her arms on her chest. “Look, Peter’s single too. I like him and I thought you’d like him too. What’s wrong with trying to see you happy?”

“It’s meddling. I don’t want you to meddle into my love life.”

“It’s not like you’re making any effort with it.”

Louis chuckled a bit to himself. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is that so important to you? That I have not dated in a while? Or that I’m still not married at my age?”

Lila bit her lip, suddenly ashamed. “It’s… well, not really. I don’t care about anything as long as you’re happy and not hurting anyone, including yourself.”

Louis looked her in the eyes. “Then why are you suddenly so interested in my love life? No, let me rephrase that – why are you actively trying to _meddle_ with my love life?”

She smiled a bit, just a quirk of her lips and she put her hands on Louis’ biceps. “I’m following a case. The kidnapping and murder in North London? A little girl? Are you-“

“Yes.” Louis said softly, “I’m working on that.”

Lila nodded and her bottom lip wobbled imperceptibly, but Louis saw it because they were standing so close. He could already tell what she was thinking.

“The case-“ Lila said, her voice shaking slightly but she inhaled deeply to calm herself. “I know I was little, but… it reminds me of…”

“Of Maggie’s case.” Louis finished for her. Lila nodded again.

“I got scared, Louis. She died so young, and she missed out on so much. _We_ missed out on so much with her gone. And I don’t-“ she paused and pressed her lips together briefly, “I don’t want you to miss out on anything. Either because of Maggie or because you’re scared or your job.”

“So you thought fixing me up with your co-worker would solve everything?” Louis said with a smile, and made Lila smile too.

“It was a start.” Her voice was clearer and the teary moment was over. “You don’t have to see him again if you don’t want to. It won’t hurt me on my job or anything.”

“You can always make him quit.” Louis winked. “Make it look like working with you is a nightmare so he would leave.”

Lila opened her mouth in mock outrage. “I don’t do that.” and then she added: “Not anymore.”

They both laughed and Lila patted Louis on the cheek affectionately.

“You’re good, Louis? Right? I don’t have to worry about you?”

Louis shook his head. “I’ve just been single for a long time. It’s not a death sentence.”

“I know. I know.” Lila said, stepping back and crossing her arms on her chest. She put a hand to her temple and looked at Louis with red cheeks. “That was such a stupid idea. Why did I even think of doing that? I’ve laughed at those cliché meddling family members in rom coms and now I’m doing the same to you.”

Louis chuckled. “I didn’t mind too much. At least there was delicious dinner.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I promise never to do that to you again. It was embarrassing for me too. Or at least it will be when I go to work tomorrow and Peter asks about you.” 

“Tell him all the worst things you can think of.” Louis said, kissing his sister on the cheek and hugging her tightly. He said goodbye to Jeremy and then went out on the street.

*~*

Louis was unsettled, to say the least. The dinner at Lila’s was as good as throwing him under a bus.

 _I don’t care about anything as long as you’re happy and not hurting anyone, including yourself_ , Lila said.

Louis was happy. Maybe happy was too strong of a word for him, but he was content. At least he thought. He had a routine, and those were supposed to be good for people working his job, right?

Sure, he was lonely when he came home from work and ate in front of his TV alone. But those were brief moments, right before he reached for another file of another open case. Did that really mean he needed a relationship to be happy?

He looked at his co-workers in the office. Most of them had fucked-up personal lives (of the little what Louis knew and what they shared). Chief was already divorced twice, his children were all grown up and moved away. Emir was married but his wife worked half a year overseas on a boat. Jack was single, with a constant string of ‘girlfriends’ coming to the office every once in a while. He admitted that he had trouble committing to people and one night stands were much easier to bother with. Sanaya had a girlfriend but it was also a new relationship; they knew each other for three months. Then there was Catalina, who was the only one who had had a long marriage but her husband died several years ago.

Being in a long-term and committed relationship seemed a fluke to Louis. Not just his own failures, but he was surrounded by people who didn’t know how to make it work. He grew up with a mother who married twice too. He was used to seeing relationships fail as quickly as they were built.

But that was just life. Some people got it, some people didn’t. And every choice was perfectly valid. He was content with his life, and most people couldn’t say the same, so looking at it from that point he was pretty lucky.

He wasn’t opposed to romantic relationships, it was just…

He was good at compartmentalising his feelings and putting on the backburner things he wasn’t ready to emotionally process right away. There was always something or someone he had to put first. He had to put other’s needs ahead of his own – he was the big brother - it was genetically ingrained in him to take care of people, especially those he loved.

That was why he became a detective in the first place.

He was sure it was going fine; he was doing fine with prioritising other things. There wasn’t anything coffee and a takeout couldn’t fix.

_He was doing fine._

Christine Sullivan, or Cris as she liked to be called, worked in a pub in East London. She had a smallish file with minor misdemeanours – mostly consisting of petty theft, public urination and traffic violations. She moved from Oxford to London shortly after Gemma died and according to the report from 1998, she was at a party. Thirty drunk students don’t make a good alibi, but Louis couldn’t wait to question her. He had a good feeling about the interrogation.

He entered _Stag and Hare_ with a spring in his step and, after a brief look around, spotted a red-haired woman behind the bar chatting to an elderly patron. That might be his next suspect.

He sat at the bar and crossed his arms on the top, cocking his head toward Cris. She rolled her eyes none so subtly and made three steps to Louis and mimicked his pose.

“What can I get you?” she asked, obnoxiously chewing her gum. Louis’ lips quirked in a smile.

“A pint to start.” He said with a gruff voice. He noticed her pupils dilating. “Then I have some questions.”

Cris leaned back with a confused expression. She stepped to the side to get a glass and poured from a random tap closest to her. “About what?”

Louis took out his detective badge and Cris’ face turned stony. “Should’ve known you were a pig. Nobody wears a trench coat with those shoes.”

Louis looked down at his feet with his worn heavy police-issued shoes. They were black with a metal cap at the front and so fucking ugly. They were comfortable enough when he was on duty but he wished the HQ would loosen the uniform codes and allow him to wear his Adidas trainers. He turned back to the issue at hand.

“You’ve met a lot of policemen then?”

Cris put a pint in front of Louis and put her hands on her hips, looking at him with her coldest stare. “Just ask what you need to ask so you can be on your merry way.”

Louis nodded and took a sip of his beer. “Sure.” He pushed it to the side and pulled out his phone and notepad. “Do you remember Gemma Styles?”

Cris’ face was unreadable. “Yeah. She worked with me years ago. She got killed few months after I was kicked out of school and my uncle’s house.”

“Why were you kicked out?”

“I was a mess back then. Hung out with the wrong people, angry at the world… Kid’s stuff.” Cris moved to refill other patron’s pint but moved back to Louis.

“Do kids often steal on the job?” Louis asked, playing with his pen.

Cris shrugged with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Troubled kids do. Or at least that’s what my uncle called me before he kicked my suitcase on the street.”

“Did you do it so much your uncle was losing money?”

Cris shook her head. “He was pretty popular with students so he had a lot of business. I was stealing pennies to what he was making. He just wanted to get rid of me. And that was the perfect excuse.”

“And Gemma? Did she tell on you?”

Cris shook her head again. “Yes. She always covered for me, but that was the last straw for her. She was good. And annoying. Hated her guts.”

_Cris arrived two days later to start her morning shift. She felt guilty for causing trouble few nights ago, but not guilty enough to give the money back. She arrived five minutes early, not half an hour late as usual. That was enough guilt she could spare for Gemma._

_“Good morning.” She mumbled as she approached Gemma behind the counter who was prepping everything for the day. The coffee maker was coughing and puffing as usual, pastries were laid on the shelves and the cakes were set on tiered displays. Everything looked normal._

_“Good morning.” Gemma said in greeting but not looking at Cris. She rolled her eyes._ Fine, if she wants to do everything herself, I won’t break my back grovelling for forgiveness. _Cris went to the back room to leave her stuff and start putting chairs off the tables and wipe them down. She was half-way done when the first customer trailed in._

_Cris took her time while Gemma made the girl’s coffee and put a muffin in a paper bag for her. When Cris finally materialised at the counter Gemma asked her to put a reservation for a cake in the book. Cris took a note Gemma gave her and walked in the back room to write in the information for their cake people._

_Her uncle had a deal with a pastry chef from a local village so he could expand his business. He took orders for cakes (any occasion, even weddings), large orders of muffins, cupcakes, scones, etc. But it was all messily written down in a large book where it was then re-written in their manager’s planner. A stupid system, but Cris didn’t complain as long as she got her 5% bonus for every order made. (little incentive she managed to persuade her uncle on because she was the one who thought of expanding his business in the first place)_

_She wrote everything down when she noticed another notebook for the daily income from the shop. She wondered if Gemma put down the right numbers or… She quickly turned to the latest entries for the cash register and saw a high number but next to it with bold marker was written -£200._

That little bitch.

_Cris shut the notebook vigorously, set it haphazardly on its place on the shelf and then stormed out into the front of the coffee house. Gemma was wiping down the counters and replacing a muffin. No customers were around. Like that would stop Cris._

_“You little bitch!” Cris screamed, startling Gemma who dropped the muffin. “You wrote down the missing 200 quid!”_

_“I did. I told you I would.” Gemma said, a calm breeze opposite the red-faced and frazzled storm Cris was._

_“I needed that money, dipshit. What do you think will happen when my uncle sees that? I’ll get fired!” Cris started trembling from her screaming session. Gemma looked at her with pity, that same look Cris was used to seeing on teachers in school. Like they could already tell she will never amount to anything. It made her blood boil even more._

_She saw an ice pick on the counter where Gemma tried to pre-made lemonade for their lunch rush, and she took it. She cornered Gemma at the counter, pity quickly replaced with fear in her eyes._

_“You’re going to change it back, right now! I’m not going to get fucked over because you’re everybody’s good girl.” Cris said, spittle flying from her mouth. Gemma was squirming and trying to make herself look smaller. “But you’re just a bitch like everyone else, and you won’t fool them anymore. I see you, I’ll fucking kill you.”_

_“Cris.” Gemma said meekly, leaning against the counter. “I can help you. If you need the money, you can just ask.”_

_“Ask who? My uncle?”_

_“Yes. He can help you. He’s your family.”_

_Cris scoffed. “What does that matter? Don’t try to sell me your Disney princess fairy tale about perfect families. It doesn’t work like that in the real world. If I need help, I’m not going to get it from him. Or anyone.”_

_“I won’t change it. Give the money back, Cris. And then we can see what we can do.”_

_“Shut up!” Cris gripped the ice pick in her hand._

_“Hey, what’s going on here?”_

_Cris and Gemma turned to see a young man standing at the entrance, looking confused. It was that creepy Tristan._

_Cris put the ice pick down and looked at Gemma once more. “Do what you want, fucking cunt fart.” She pushed the back door so violently it slammed against the wall and a piece of plaster fell off. Cris grabbed her bag and her things, and walked out of the coffee house._

“My uncle found me in the house that night and kicked me out. I was hitchhiking all the way to London and slept under a bridge. Never went back to Oxford again.” Cris finished her story.

“When was that?” Louis said, playing with condensation on the side of his half-full pint.

“In April, I think. It was still warm enough to sleep outside.” Cris said casually, filling another pint and setting it in front of her other patron. “Two months later I saw in the newspaper that Gemma was killed.”

“If Tristan Snyders didn’t come in the right time, maybe you would’ve killed her?”

Cris shrugged. “Who knows? With how volatile I was, I might’ve. There were knives at my fingertips at any time. Even an ice pick was on the counter all the time.” She said it like she was talking about how lovely the weather was. “But she did me a favour. Getting out of that city was the best decision I’ve ever made.” She said it like Oxford was a crummy city full of crime and not the most expensive and sought-after piece of England.

Louis hummed. “Do you think you know who had the guts to pull it through?”

“If I had to put my money on someone, it’d be that creepy Tristan. He was always in the shop when Gemma was around, he was in all of her classes. A real stalker if I ever saw one.”

“Was he possessive? Did he find other people threatening when they talked to Gemma?”

“If he did, it was never in my shift. But he always looked at her in that creepy way and he always had his camera around. It was a nice thing and I thought of stealing it a couple of times just to see what he was taking pictures of. But then…” she paused, considering.

“Few weeks before I left, I went out to take the trash and Gemma was closing up the shop. I saw him standing on the street. I thought he was waiting to walk Gemma home, but then he pulled out his camera, pointing it at the shop and took pictures. Then he walked away.”

Cris shuddered as she said it. “Bloody creep.”

“He was taking pictures of Gemma?” Louis asked, to clarify. Cris nodded.

Louis stuffed his pockets with his things and thanked Cris. Before he was even at the door, Cris took his half-full pint and drank it in one go.

*~*

Louis’ phone buzzed several times before he picked it up. There was another seemingly random text from Harry, showing him a picture of a record in a store.

_I finally found it!_

Harry had been searching for this particular Rolling Stones record for ages and Louis was happy that he finally found it.

They’ve been texting and talking on and off for a few weeks now. Harry at first only sent him playlists and songs he thought Louis might like, but then it turned into Harry sending him pictures of his workload and complaining about pretentious and snobby students and now they just talked… all the time.

Louis was more inconsistent with his texts, due to his job and Harry didn’t mind waiting few hours for a reply. He just understood.

Louis also sent him few songs he heard on the radio or when he was in Bobby’s with his co-workers that he thought Harry might like. He even made a Spotify account so he could share music with Harry more easily.

It was nice. Louis liked seeing a notification pop up and he liked knowing there was someone who was thinking about him (besides his sister) enough to send him a message, no matter how inane it was. Just asking about his day was something that made him smile. Even Smithy pointed out that Louis should be careful not to crack his face with so much smiling.

Bastard.

He was in the middle of sending a string of celebratory emojis and a _congratulations !!!_ when Sanaya knocked on Louis’ desk and startled him. She leaned forward a little and raised her eyebrows, her eyes glinting with triumph.

“We got him.” she said.

Louis sat up straighter and started to clear out his desk, stuffing his phone in his pocket and his badge.

“The paedophile kidnapper? The Silver case?” Louis asked to confirm, and at Sanaya’s nod his stomach was turned into a bundle of nerves. Child molesters have always been his sore spot. He wanted the harshest punishments and his interrogations sometimes led out of hand.

“Who’s interviewing him?” Louis asked, his palms clenching at the thought of him doing it. He wouldn’t go easy on the guy, that was certain. With how he was feeling lately and how the entire case was evolving, he better sign the confession right away.

“Smith is with him. We’ll watch.” Sanya said, leading Louis to the interrogation room. They entered the cramped room with recording devices, and a big window into the adjacent room. Jack was sitting on the table opposite a bald guy with the face of a beaten pug. He had a blue snapback on the table and Jack was making idle conversation with him.

Louis wasn’t listening to what he was saying, he just couldn’t look past the ugly mug of the guy. It was the kind of face that he was used to seeing in pubs, sitting alone at the bar and drowning their sorrows with cheap ale and smoke. He wouldn’t stick out in any way. But he had that creepy aura about him, like all creepy and lonely types do.

Louis wondered how nobody noticed him coming in front of the shopping centre and taking a child. How did he plan it? Was it spontaneous? Or was this just another notch in his belt? A series of kidnapping?

“What do we know about him?” Louis asked Sanaya but kept his eyes forward.

“His name is Bobby McCraden. Fifty two and lives alone in North London. Apparently, only two streets away from the shopping centre Cecilia Silver was kidnapped from.”

“Is that how we got him? Is he on a sex-offenders’ list?” Louis asked, tightening his jaw.

“No. Remember how we checked the license from the security camera?” Sanaya said, crossing her arms on her chest and smiling smugly. “It belonged to a Betty Warren, a resident of a retirement home in East London.” At Louis’ raised eyebrows, Sanaya chuckled. “Yeah, doesn’t make sense. She was senile and with one foot in the grave. Bobby here worked for that retirement home and he often took the van from her, along with other things. His supervisor told us he didn’t come to work the day the little girl was kidnapped and simply looking into his file told us we got our kidnapper.”

Louis hummed. “Not surprising. Robbing grannies won’t be the worst crime for his sort.”

Sanaya inclined her head. “Jack will not be at this for a long time. Bobby doesn’t looks like a tough nut to crack.”

“With that face, I bet.”

They listened for a while to Jack who read Bobby’s file and tried to intimidate him with large punishments in court.

“People love children, and they’re especially willing to hang paedophiles in jail. And that’s where you’re headed, mate.” Jack said, leaning toward Bobby like an eagle ready to strike his prey from above.

Bobby merely looked at him and clasped his hands on the desk. He didn’t look scared, just resigned. Like he was expecting this to happen at some point. Louis almost felt sorry for him. _Almost_.

“Was Cecilia the only one?” Jack asked, standing up slowly and then walking around Bobby to his other side. He crossed his arms on his chest and looked down at Bobby. “Did you like any other little girl and take them to your house?”

Bobby shook his head. “She was the only one.” He said quietly, staring in front.

“Okay.” Jack sat on the table again, but very close to Bobby, his knee almost touching Bobby’s arm. “Why did you kill her? She wasn’t fun anymore?”

Bobby shook his head. “She was good. She was a good little girl.”

“Then why did you kill her?”

“She wouldn’t shut up.” Bobby looked up at Jack finally, his eyes watery. “I just wanted to see what it would be like… and she kept screaming and yelling. It wasn’t- it wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

Jack hummed. “I see. Didn’t live up to the fantasy?”

Bobby closed his eyes momentarily and pressed his lips. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

Louis clenched his jaw. “Alright. I heard enough.” He turned to Sanaya. “Make him sign the confession and then lock him up for good.”

Sanaya nodded and Louis left the interrogation room feeling sick. He bee-lined for the tiny office kitchen where he filled a glass of water and drank it, spilling a bit on his shirt. When that didn’t help with his shakes, he went to the bathroom and splashed his face several times.

It got better. Marginally.

Louis sat back at his desk and pretended to look at his laptop, but he was barely seeing anything. He hated how affected he was by this case but he gave himself a moment or two to get a grip and then he’d continue his work as normal. Jack and Sanaya will arrest the bastard, send him into a nice little cell and then he’ll be on trial and locked up for good twenty or more years, depending on how the judge will feel like.

He will not be released. He will not escape justice. Not like last time.

 _Definitely_ not like last time. Louis will make sure of that.

Louis was still slightly shaken up but he manged to focus and work had always been a nice distraction. He was writing reports, checking alibis and looked a little more into Emily Dawson’s case. Louis felt like something was staring at him right in the face, but he just couldn’t connect the dots.

Almost an hour later Louis saw Smithy walk out with a policeman in uniform who was taking away despondent Bobby McCraden. He had his head down, his arms strapped together in police cuffs.

 _Good riddance_ , Louis thought as they passed in front of Sanaya’s desk and out the door. He went back to work. Looking through the statements from Emily’s friends, nothing stood out. But Louis couldn’t help but feel like they were not telling him everything. All of them had more or less solid alibis, except for her friend in university, David, who said he was watching a movie in a cinema but he lost his ticket and none of the staff remember him. It niggled at Louis’ brain.

He had to check out more about David.

“Is this a bad time?” Louis heard a familiar voice somewhere near him and blinked, looking up. He saw Harry’s lovely face set in an unsure smile, and his body half hidden by Louis’ laptop and a box he was carrying.

“Is this déjà vu?” Louis countered with a big smile.

“What?”

“Isn’t this how we met? You carrying a huge box to my office, looking like a drowned puppy?”

Harry chuckled. “I’m not wet now.”

 _Not yet._ Jesus, where did that come from?

Louis cleared his throat. “What brings you to my little corner of the world, Harold?”

“I told you. That’s not my name.” He said but Louis saw that Harry’s nose twitched and he smiled like he actually liked it. Like Louis would stop anyway. Teasing Harry in person was far better than teasing him over texts and phone calls. He could look at Harry’s reaction like this.

“Okay, Harold.” Louis said and stood up to help him with the box. “What’s this then?”

Harry set the box on Louis’ chair and stretched his back. “Some other stuff from Gemma that I found. I don’t know if it could be helpful, but… I thought, why not. Louis would know best.”

“Louis always knows best.” Louis said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Of course.” Harry said, with a soft tone in his voice. It made Louis’ stomach twist pleasantly. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Harry looked at the mess of Louis’ desk.

“Is this how you work every day?” there were papers stacked on one end, threatening to fall off, several yellowish-brown files on the other, several chocolate and crisps wrappers that didn’t find their place in Louis’ bin under the desk, Louis’ notepad and phone and several papers where he neatly made a graph of all the evidence he collected so far for Gemma’s case. There were two big circled names of potential suspects.

Louis shrugged. “I’ve been busy?”

Harry tsked with his tongue. “Messy surroundings, messy life.” He said simply, but without judgement.

“I work better in mess, thank you very much.” Louis defended himself, crossing his arms. “Not all of us can be neat freaks.”

“It’s called being clean, Louis.” Harry picked several wrappers and tossed them in the bin. When he straightened out some of the papers on Louis’ desk, it clicked to Louis that he should probably stop him.

“Hey-“

“Why are these missing glass?” Harry asked, taking the framed picture of Louis’ mother and youngest sister.

“It smashed. And I never got around to replace it.” He didn’t want to.

“Oh. I can replace it if you’re busy. It’s a shame they’re not protected. They seem lovely.”

“They were.” Louis choked out. Harry’s face fell.

“I’m so sorry. Your mum?”

Louis nodded. “And my youngest sister, Maggie.”

“I thought you only had one sister, Lila?”

“I’m the oldest, Lila was second and Maggie was the youngest.” Louis explained, looking at the frame in Harry’s hands and not directly at him.

“How did she die?” Harry asked, looking at the pictures, and tracing the cheap wooden frame with his thumb. Louis was glad he wasn’t looking at him, but Louis checked over his shoulder.

“I’d rather not talk about it here.” Louis said, putting his hands in his pockets.

Harry looked up at him, concerned. “Don’t your co-workers know?”

“They know what they need to know.”

Harry nodded and put the frame back on the table. “Look… I didn’t come here just to bring more of Gemma’s stuff.”

Louis grinned, but it was a stiff smile. “I knew there was a hidden agenda. What do you need, Harold? A speeding ticket to disappear? Friend’s public urination charge to dismantle?”

Harry was biting his lip nervously. “I want to ask you out. But in a friendly sort of way.” He added quickly, when Louis opened his mouth to reject the suggestion. “We’ve never hung out in a proper way… and texts are not enough for me. I think it’d be fun.”

“I-“ Louis didn’t know what to say. Texts weren’t enough for him too, but he couldn’t. He was investigating Harry’s sister’s murder and conflict of interest was huge. He could lose his job.

But Harry did say it could be a friendly date. Nothing had to come out of it. They were friends. There was no harm to it. At least not as big as a romantic involvement would be.

“A friendly date?” Louis asked, suddenly shy.

Harry nodded, a smile blooming on his face when he realised Louis was giving in. “Just mates going for a beer and watching a football game… or whatever you want.”

“You don’t look to me like the type to drink beer with the lads.”

“I’m more of a cocktail person.” Harry said, picking up Louis’ phone and handing it to him.

Louis bit his tongue from spilling at least a dozen jokes about it, but in the end he settled for: “I’m sure you are.” He stuffed his pockets with his wallet and phone, and then helped Harry carry the box to the evidence room in the basement.

The minute they stepped out of the building, London showed its moody nature. It started raining heavily.

Harry rummaged through his messenger bag and pulled out a small collapsible umbrella that was not big enough to keep two grown adults dry, but it was all they had.

Harry pulled out his phone to call an Uber, but Louis stopped him. “What do you say we go to my place instead? I’m not in the mood to be around a lot of people today.”

Harry nodded, pocketing his phone. “Yeah, sure. The Tube then?”

Louis led them to the station. When they got on the platform they were already soaking wet, their shoes and calves getting the biggest impact. While Louis had the ugly and sensible work shoes that mostly kept his feet dry, Harry was less fortunate with his poor boots that were more fashion than function.

They didn’t talk much on their way to Louis’ apartment. They sat in comfortable silence and occasionally glanced up to watch other commuters. They got out at Louis’ stop and walked the final miles under the sprinkling rain. 

Louis made Harry remove his boots and socks and gave him a pair of his own. Harry refused a new pair of trousers and simply rolled up his own trouser legs up to his knees.

“I’ll be fine.” Harry assured him. Louis went to his kitchen to make some tea and made a stop in his bathroom to change to dry clothes. Tea was already done when he came back and he remembered to make Harry’s tea the way he liked.

Harry was sitting on his sofa, watching a police drama. Louis scoffed, setting the mugs on the coffee table. “Aren’t you sick of those?”

Harry shrugged. “They’re comforting. The bad guy always gets caught in the end.”

“You know that they’re chock full of inaccuracies, right? We don’t have that much technology nor can we legally do half the stuff they can on the show. Especially with forensics.”

Harry frowned. “You’re ruining the magic for me, Louis.”

“It’s better to know the truth than a comforting lie.” Louis sat next to Harry and they spent the rest of the episode silently watching. The plot revolved around an older female detective and her young partner trying to solve a murder of a construction worker. In the end, he was involved in a human trafficking business which covered half of Eastern Europe and the duo broke their chain of transport, arresting the big bosses as well.

When it ended, Louis quickly changed the channel to Sky Sports. It was a re-rerun of a Premier League match; Louis already saw it but he wanted some background noise. Sitting quietly next to Harry made him nervous.

“Your mum… she had cancer, you said?”

Louis nodded.

“How did your sister die?” Harry asked quietly, playing with his finger and looking at his lap.

Louis took a deep breath. It might’ve been easier saying this while Harry wasn’t next to him but he still waited for Harry to look up. When Harry did, it poured out of Louis like a broken dam.

“My mum had cancer. An aggressive type, almost five years ago. She died within the year when it was diagnosed.” Harry nodded, his hand twitching to reach out and comfort Louis physically, but Louis was glad he didn’t. He might’ve started crying. “She was a wonderful mum. Kind, stubborn, loyal. They say I was a lot like her.”

“And your sister?” Harry prompted.

“Maggie… When she was five, she was kidnapped. Her nanny and she went to a toy store and Maggie liked to wander around so the nanny lost her in the crowd. Her kidnapper took her to a secluded house outside Doncaster and killed her. He left her in the woods and then killed himself few days after the police found her.”

Harry’s eyes filled with unshed tears and Louis reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright.” Harry nodded and few tears spilled.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Louis scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders, Harry leaning into Louis. “I loved them both and sometimes we can’t protect the people we love as much as we’d like.”

Harry sniffled and his hair tickled Louis’ chin. He didn’t move.

“Is Maggie the reason you became a detective?” Harry’s voice was croaky, like a frog’s.

“Yes.” Louis said without hesitation.

Louis was only ten years old when it happened, but he could feel the injustice that swept over his family. The killer never faced his crimes and decided to take matters into his own hands when he so ruthlessly uprooted Louis’ and his family’s life. As a teenager his anger became physical and he often fought with other kids, so his mum, luckily, channelled that anger into sports. He picked up boxing and football, and it got easier.

When he finished his A-levels, he decided to become a detective. Offer some peace to others that he never got.

“Are you hungry? We should order in?” Louis asked and Harry nodded, then moved away from Louis’ embrace. He wiped his face and managed a small smile while Louis called for a pizza.

They watched the game when pizza arrived and then Harry showed Louis some funny answers from his students on the latest Romanticism poetry exam they had.

Louis didn’t even notice when the clock showed 11 pm and Harry made excuses to leave. He walked Harry to the door and noticed his trousers were still wet.

“I’m sorry about this. If you catch a cold because of me, feel free to harass me and sneeze on me all you want.”

“Hey, it was my choice.” Harry said nonchalantly, leaning against the doorframe. “If I catch a cold it would be because I’m stubborn.”

“I should’ve been more stubborn in letting you borrow my clothes.” Louis countered and Harry stepped closer.

“If I let you do that, then I wouldn’t ever leave.” He said, leaning in and giving Louis time to backtrack. Louis was hesitant for a moment but then leaned in too.

They shared a chaste kiss, too innocent and sweet. And Louis felt like his knees were giving out. Nobody kissed him like that, like he was something precious. Kissing usually involved a lot of groping, pulling and pressing against random surfaces – they were hungry, consumable and passionate.

Sweet kisses were nice. He almost preferred that over passionate groping.

Harry moved away and smirked. He already had his jacket on so he simply said: “Goodbye, Louis.” and walked away.

Louis stood in his doorway for some time. Thinking how much space Harry already carved out in his heart and why it didn’t feel so bad.

*~*

“The last time we met, I had a feeling you and Gemma were just friends, colleagues at most.” Louis started his interview, intertwining his fingers together and relaxing in his chair opposite Tristan Snyders in the interrogation room. Snyders’ beady eyes were squinted, like he was concentrating really hard on something.

“I’ve seen your file, Mr. Snyders.” Louis continued in his professional tone, “I’ve even read some of it to you. Do you think something’s missing?”

“No.” Snyders answered simply, “everything’s there. I don’t know what else could be. Nothing happened in the last five years. Not that I know of.” He added quietly and then sighed. “Haven’t we been over this already? Yes, I’m an irresponsible driver, I beat idiots to a pulp. And he bloody deserved it.”

“I was thinking of adding another point to your resume.”

“Such as?” Snyders asked with a snarky look on his face.

“A stalker.”

“What do you mean?”

Louis scratched his beard and smacked his lips together. “You see, when we searched your house, we found some really interesting stuff.” He opened a thick file that was lying next to him. He started pulling out photographs and lying them in front of Snyders. “Your old camera had some interesting negatives, but we managed to develop them and look what we found.”

There were dozens of women on the photographs, mostly university age and from around the same area when Tristan Snyders was in university In the 90’s. Louis recognised some streets and buildings in Oxford. Snyders, apparently, liked to secretly take pictures of his female colleagues.

“There’s only one that appears the most on these.” Louis said and pulled out a huge stack of photographs that only featured one person: Gemma Styles. She was photographed in random places, at work, in class, in the courtyard… it seemed that wherever Gemma was, Snyders was there as well. “Can you explain this to me?”

Snyders was as ashen as the walls of the interrogation room. Louis hoped he wouldn’t get sick all over the floor.

“I remember you saying that you ‘didn’t care about her enough’.” Louis continued when Synders didn’t say anything. “But judging by these photos I’d argue you _cared_. Better yet, _wanted_ to get to know her. Get really deep and personal.”

“Maybe I should also mention that I checked out your alibi. There was a ticket bought but… ticket inspector doesn’t remember anyone on board. Not anyone that looked like you.”

Snyders blinked and Louis was reminded of a really defeated rat. “Alright, I’ll talk.”

Louis collected the photographs and Snyders leaned on his elbows, burying his face in his hands and sighing deeply. “I liked Gemma. I thought she was pretty and I liked taking pictures of her. I liked taking pictures of girls. _Full stop._ She was interesting enough for me to want to spend time with her. So what? It’s not a crime to be in love.”

“I did follow her. But I wasn’t a stalker.” He emphasized his words with pressing his pointer finger to the table. “I would never hurt her.”

Louis hummed. “Now, why that doesn’t sound convincing?”

“It’s the truth.”

“No. The truth is whatever you can prove in court, Snyders. And you can’t prove anything. Not even your own innocence. We have pictures of Gemma in your house, a witness who saw you threaten her, and another one who claims you were a stalker. And on top of that, your alibi is really weak. Need I go on?”

“I know it looks guilty, but why would I kill her?”

“She realised what a creep you were? Rejected you in public when you wanted to get more? Take your pick.” Louis said, his calm tone making Snyders’ face pale.

“I never asked for anything from her!” Snyders got angry and his voice raised. He leaned towards Louis and he talked so fast he was spitting. “Maybe you should talk to that crazy co-worker of hers or with her professor! They both threatened Gemma! I was there!”

“Professor?” Louis interrupted his tirade. “Which one?”

Snyders calmed a bit and leaned back on his plastic chair. “Professor Hardgrave.”

“And why would she threaten Gemma?” Louis asked irritably, his nerves getting the best of him.

It was probably another lie Snyders wanted to buy himself more time with. Louis only needed to find something that connected Snyders to the murder scene or a weapon and he was done. He didn’t want to waste any more time on this scum. He could have as easily taken the ice pick off the counter. Maybe Snyders was in a fencing club at Oxford – he looked posh and self-important like that. Or he played darts; might go better with his faux-hipster image he had when he was a student.

“Few months before Gemma died there were rumours. I just thought they were that, rumours and gossip. Because I never saw it for myself. They said professor Hardgrave started drinking because her husband left her. And then she came to Gemma’s coffee house…”

_Tristan didn’t know why he even bothered coming there anymore._

_He set his bag on a chair next to him and looked around the coffee house. It was a decent place, and the food was passable. But it didn’t have a soul. Space itself was just that – a space. He looked over at the counter where Gemma was ringing up a customer._

_There was the soul._

_He sighed. She was so beautiful. And the light was perfect in the way it was hitting her neck and pulled up hair. If she could just move a bit to the left… He reached for his camera in his bag when a grey blob rushed through the front door._

_“How dare you?” a female voice screamed. Tristan turned around to see what was happening, his camera completely forgotten when he recognised professor Hardgrave. She looked so mad, she was almost purple in her face. “How dare YOU!”_

_Professor Hardgrave must’ve come from one of her lectures because she was still wearing her grey suit and her briefcase was thrown on the floor at her feet. She didn’t seem to mind that she was making a scene in the half-full coffee house and she was staring at Gemma with blazing fire in her eyes._

_If looks could kill..._

_“You impossible, impudent little brat. How dare you leave all those leaflets on my desk?” she was quieter but her voice was still shrill and full of rage. She took something out of her pocket and threw it at Gemma. It was a note. “How dare you insinuate anything about me?”_

_“Professor…” Gemma’s voice was calm, but I could see her hands trembling as she moved away from the counter and toward the angry woman. “I saw those bottles…”_

_“I don’t know what you saw, but it’s not what you think.” Professor Hardgrave cut Gemma off, and lifted her head proudly. “Those were gifts! I just kept them under my desk for the cleaning lady to collect them later.” She set her fiery gaze at Gemma with laser-precision. “If you think you can discredit me with your false accusations because of that silly essay, then you’re wrong. You still have to grow a lot to understand the power dynamics in the world but especially at university as old as this one, little bitch.”_

_“Professor, I didn’t-“ Gemma’s eyes were as wide as saucers and she was trembling like a leaf in the wind._

_“You’ll regret ever stepping a foot in my class. Mark my words.” She said, and glanced at the ice pick on the counter. “And don’t leave sharp objects where people can find them. Soon you’ll find one in your back.”_

_With that she picked up her briefcase and stormed out of the coffee house. Gemma looked unseeing at the customers who were unabashedly staring at her, some were even whispering amongst themselves. She put a shaky hand over her temple and rushed to the back room._

_Tristan jumped from his seat and went after her. She was leaning against the toilet door and crying without abandon._

_“Gemma? What happened?” he put a hand on her shoulder and tried to comfort her. She just kept crying and mumbling incoherently. Then she showed him the piece of paper professor Hardgrave threw at her._

_It was a small note, written by Gemma._

Dear professor,

I hope you’ll find the help you need in times of trouble. Don’t hesitate to reach out. Your husband is not worth this. Think about how much you can lose if you continue with this.

  * Gemma Styles



_“Gemma, what-?” Tristan asked, still confused to what was going on. Gemma was still sobbing, but she was coherent enough to tell him everything._

_“Hardgrave is getting a divorce. And she’s been- she started drinking because of th-that… And I found these bottles in her desk and-“ she took a deep breath, “I thought it would help, but…”_

_“It will be alright.” he told her, offering a hug. She put her arms around him and sniffled into his shoulder. Tristan didn’t know how much comfort he gave her but he was glad he had her in his arms._

Louis exhaled deeply and rubbed his temples. “Why are you telling me this?”

He was fed up with sleazy bastards who lied to him just to buy themselves some time. He should just temporarily lock him up until he found the murder weapon or link him to the murder scene with concrete evidence, he did not have time or the patience to follow some flimsy accusations.

Then it clicked in Louis’ brain. He calmly looked over his notes from the very beginning of the investigation and he mentally slapped himself.

He had to let Snyders go.

He wasn’t happy about that.

“What? Am I right?” Snyders’ beady eyes lit up, “Did you find the murderer? It’s professor Hardgrave, isn’t it?”

“Shut up, Snyders.” Louis said, exhaustion setting in his bones. He stood, picked up all the files from the table and went towards the door. Then he threw a last glance over his shoulder. “We’re done here. But don’t think you’re not going to end up here at some point or another.”

Louis slammed the doors behind himself.

“Hey! The door is locked!” he heard Snyders yell from the interrogation room.

“Sorry. Don’t have the keys.” Louis said casually and smirked.

*~*

“Even with all the evidence we got, we still couldn’t catch the bastard.”

Old Bobby’s Pub was full to the brim when Louis, Sanaya, Emir and Catalina went for their weekly pint. Their usual table was, luckily, unoccupied. As they sat down, they started to discuss some old cases and Emir told them about a fraternal murder he was assigned to several years before Louis and Sanaya joined the team.

Louis wasn’t so invested in the story and he only half-listened to what Emir was saying. Most of his attention went on watching people around him, but even that got tiring too quickly.

He still didn’t know why Gemma was in London on the night she died. And even with all the evidence they had on Tristan Snyders they couldn’t connect him directly to the crime scene. So with all of Louis’ false bravado in the interrogation room, they still would’ve let Snyders go. Unless he confessed, which he was very determined not to do.

What he was most concerned about was Emily Dawson’s case. Every time he thought about it, he got more frustrated. Something was staring at him right in the face, some piece he just wasn’t getting at. And it didn’t help that the case was looking more or less like Gemma’s. And then he was thinking about Harry.

Goddamit. Why did he have to kiss him?

It was messing with Louis’ head.

“Where’s your head at, Louis?”

He turned to Emir and Sanaya who were watching him with amused smiles. He shrugged. “It’s that case I’m working on. It’s getting to me.”

“The cold one?” Sanaya raised a pint to her lips.

Louis shook his head.

“The uni girl we found in the park.” Louis clarified and propped his chin on his hand. “I feel like it’s so obvious but I’m missing something. One of her friends is lying, but…”

“You can’t tell who?” Emir said, leaning forward and furrowing his brows. He always had that look when they had to connect clues to solve a case. He probably looked like that playing Cluedo with his kids.

“It’s probably a man. With those injuries, it had to be a man.” Sanaya said.

“Or a really strong woman.” Emir added and Sanaya shrugged. “Maybe it was unrequited love. Kids these days… It’s scary how little they know about other people but form their own ideals about a person. And when they mess up, everyone is willing to crucify them for not being up to snuff to what they thought about them.”

Louis stared at him for a moment. “A stalker.”

“What?” Sanaya and Emir looked at Louis who was staring past them unseeing and connecting the dots in his head.

“I think I know who murdered Emily Dawson.”

Emir and Sanaya looked at each other with confused faces. “Alright.” Sanaya said, finishing off her pint and patting Louis on the shoulder. “Let’s go arrest someone.”

When Louis said he knew who murdered Emily Dawson, there were still some background checks he had to do before he could justify the arrest. It turned out that one of Emily’s classmates - the very person Louis suspected from the start – David had a thing for stalking women and had no less than two restraining orders from his female colleagues. He and Emily worked on a project together, but when Emily found out that David stole some of her essays and presented them as his own, she threatened to report him.

David didn’t like it so he followed Emily on her way to work through Hyde Park and killed her. He did move around a cinema a bit further from the scene to have an alibi. He knew there were cameras in front but he never went in and didn’t buy a ticket.

It was a complete mess and Louis wondered how he didn’t catch him earlier. One little search completely solved everything. Louis ascribed it to overwork and too many cases on his plate.

Even though it took him a while to solve the case and then getting the satisfaction to saddle Smithy with paper work to present to Chief, he was finally free to dig deeper and finish Gemma’s case as well.

Louis was awake.

Insomnia hit him pretty hard sometimes and he couldn’t for the life of him find rest. It unsettled him especially after he solved a case and everything told him he had a right to rest but his body refused to shut down.

He wasn’t overthinking like he usually would, but there was a strange feeling in his chest that didn’t let him sleep. It pressed on his ribcage to the point that he couldn’t breathe.

He sat up and leaned on his headboard. His window was partially shut and he could hear cars speeding down the street and white noise of London that grounded him. He stared at the dark in his bedroom, at the silhouettes of the furniture illuminated by streetlights.

It was so peaceful, and so… lonely.

He got out of bed and walked to his living room where he listened to Gemma’s tapes in the morning. He finished all of them few weeks ago, placed the originals in the evidence room and made copies for himself to listen at home. He wanted to freely listen to them once again just to see if he missed something the first time that could help him find the missing piece of the puzzle.

He put a tape in the cassette player and pressed PLAY.

“People would gladly carry a glass of water and watch you burn.” Gemma’s voice echoed, the end getting staticky. “I’m scared. There’s no telling what they’ll do next, just to get ahead. I’m tired of that mentality. I just want the world to stop for a moment so I can breathe.”

Louis closed his eyes, and listened to Gemma speak into his ears. He could feel her anxiety mimic his own. He wanted to get her killer.

“Maybe professor was right. Maybe I got too deep into something I don’t quite understand yet. Maybe I’m too naïve. Too insignificant. Too…” she sighed and the tape ended. He reached for the next one when he heard his phone ping with an incoming text message.

He picked it up and his heart picked up speed too. Harry sent him a link to a [poem](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/don-t-go-far-off/). 

_Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --_  
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long  
and I will be waiting for you

It was as good as a love letter. Like saying I love you without saying it out loud. Louis called him.

“Harry…” he breathed when Harry picked up.

“Hmm?” he heard Harry’s gruff voice from the other side of the line and his heart fluttered again in that soft and comforting way.

“Why did you send me that? Why aren’t you sleeping?” Louis curled into himself, wishing Harry didn’t do that and glad that he did anyway.

“I wanted to. And I can’t sleep.”

“What’s keeping you up?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

Harry cleared his throat. “You.”

Louis’ breath caught in his throat. It was- it was one thing to play it in his head, but another thing to hear it out loud. And he said it so simply, like he was saying hello. Like it was a no-brainer for him to be thinking about Louis at three in the morning, that he was glad it was Louis even.

Like it wouldn’t cause them trouble to do anything about it.

“I-“ Louis muttered. He was still trying to find his voice. He was so damn tired. “We can’t, Harry. It will interfere with Gemma’s case. Judges will not look kindly on us.”

“I know.” Harry breathed. “I’m not asking for anything. I’m saying I’ll wait until after the investigation is over. When we won’t… _interfere_ with the case.”

“How- why would you want to be with me?” Louis asked, “we barely know each other.”

“We talk almost every day, Louis.” Harry countered with a laugh in his voice. “we’re not exactly strangers. And what I know so far, I really like. I like you, Louis. I want to get to know you better.”

Louis pressed his palm to his temple. He wanted that too. So much.

“Do you- do you want to come over?” he heard himself ask before his brain could catch up. But his brain agreed as well.

“Now?” Harry laughed.

“No, this weekend. I can make dinner.”

There was a pause.

“Are you sure about that?” Harry asked, Louis heard rustling like Harry was trying to get comfortable.

“No.” Louis said sincerely, “but it doesn’t matter. I just want to see you.”

“I want to see you too.”

“Then come.”

“Alright.”

Louis hung up.

~*~

Dr Colleen Hardgrave was sitting behind the interrogation desk looking like someone pissed in her tea. Her hair was done in a tight bun and she wore a plaid suit that would not stand out in a room full of academics at a conference. In short, she tried to make herself look important and above all the nonsense Louis was currently dragging her through.

“You remember Tristan Snyders, don’t you, Dr Hardgrave?” Louis asked, pulling out a chair for himself opposite her and sitting down with his hands clasped on the table.

Dr Hardgrave’s eyes narrowed briefly. “Of course, he was my student. We talked about him when you were in my office.”

Louis nodded. “Of course. Silly me, can’t keep track of everything.” Dr Hardgrave pressed her lips and smudged her lipstick in the corner of her mouth.

“You said he was a good student and a remarkable young man.” Dr Hardgrave nodded at Louis’ words, “do you still have the same opinion?”

“Unless something happened in the meantime, I still have the same opinion from two months ago.” She slightly inclined her head and her eyebrow twitched.

“Last time we talked, you made some pretty big accusations about Tristan Snyders.” Louis said, “Might have called him a main suspect.”

“I did no such thing.” Dr Hardgrave’s tone was calm but full of disdain. “I only told you about something that happened. I don’t know if he’s the one who killed her. It could’ve been anyone.”

“Yes, it could’ve.” Louis agreed and looked imploringly at Dr Hardgrave. “But you specifically chose to tell me that little anecdote and I wonder why. You were the only witness to it so whatever you say must be true.”

“Well, it is true.”

Louis nodded. “I agree. But… some new evidence has come to light. Actually, a witness.”

Dr Hardgrave paled slightly but her demeanour didn’t falter. “Who?”

“Your very favorite student, Tristan Snyders, has made some pretty big accusations too.”

“Based on what?” Dr Hardgrave was getting angry and her stone façade crumbled like a house of cards.

“Looking at Snyders’ file,” Louis continued, ignoring her outburst, “I’d say he’s a filthy liar and would do anything to clear his name, but…” he paused for effect, “I’ve noticed some things myself.”

Dr Hardgrave inclined her head and inhaled deeply. She didn’t say anything.

“You’re a recovering alcoholic, aren’t you, Dr Hardgrave?” Louis asked, like he was her personal therapist – professional and sympathetic.

Dr Hardgrave looked down. “Yes. How do you know that? AA meetings and memberships are confidential.”

“They are, if the member is not a convicted felon or tied to a crime. Every voluntary member is anonymous.”

Dr Hardgrave gave him a look that said _I’m aware, you idiot, get to the point_.

Louis shrugged. “The last time I was in your office I noticed a coin on your shelves. To anyone else it might look like a collector’s knick-knack of no importance. But your coin specifically has two X’s and a motto.”

“’To thine own self be true’.” Dr Hardgrave said with a disappointed sigh and rubbed her temples. “Yes, I- I’m sober for twenty years, detective. I was a mess when my husband left me and I found peace in a bottle.” She leaned forward on the table, her back curving with all the weight on her shoulders. “I’m better now.”

“I’m sure you are. Congrats on your achievement.” Louis said, with a small smile, “but I’m more curious to how you were when you were at your worst.”

“How is that relevant to your investigation?” Dr Hardgrave said with a weary voice. “I’m tired of discussing my past, I’m already doing that twice a month with my therapist.”

“Well, I’m not charging you two hundred and fifty pounds for that. This is a free therapy session.” Louis said, “Humour me, Dr Hardgrave. Or I will think you’re hiding something and that you’re guilty.”

Dr Hardgrave took a deep breath. She was quiet for a moment.

“It wasn’t pretty, detective. I somehow managed to keep my job and pretend everything was fine. But outside of work, it was ugly. I went to the same off-license for several months when the girl started to recognise me and bring me my bottles without asking what I wanted. I panicked so I went after work to different stores to get my wine and vodka. Somewhere after six months it wasn’t enough so I went for harder stuff – whiskey and so on.”

She paused for a moment, biting her bottom lip.

“I thought I was so smart, that I was hiding it well. I even had a separate key for my office drawer where I hid the bottles and I thought nobody will ever know. This was just temporary. A sort of release. I only noticed I had a problem after a year. When I got a message from Gemma and I thought that my secret wasn’t so well-hidden after all.”

“Was that your boiling point, Dr Hardgrave? Your student exposing your secret? Threatening your position as a teacher? Your reputation?” Louis looked at her sympathetically. “You worked so hard to get to that position and one careless little girl will now ruin everything.”

“She shouldn’t have done that.” Dr Hardgrave looked small, hunching forward with her eyes down. The grand professor of Oxford University was gone and in her place was a woman with a haunting past. “She could just pass my class and move on. The note – it really shook me.”

“Did you kill Gemma, Dr Hardgrave?” Louis asked as if he was inquiring after her mother’s health.

Dr Hardgrave shook her head. “That night I drank so much that I passed out when I tried to answer my door. A neighbour came about some nonsense and when I stepped out, I fell and he took me to the hospital. I spent two days there.”

Louis nodded and patted Dr Hardgrave on her clasped hands on the table. “You may leave.”

Dr Hardgrave looked up and nodded as well, her thin framed glasses sliding down her nose slightly. She took her bag, straightened her suit jacket and stopped in front of the door. She looked over her shoulder at Louis.

“I hope you catch the killer, detective. I want Gemma to be at peace finally. She was a remarkable young woman and- tell her family she’s been a great influence in people’s lives.” _In my life especially_ was left unspoken but Louis heard it anyway.

“I will.” Louis said and finished his notes. Dr Hardgrave nodded again and left the room.

*~*

After Dr Hardgrave left, there were just a few things Louis had to do to finish his work for the day. He had to call his sister and see how little Jeremy was doing; the boy got a fever few days ago and a serious cough which scared both Louis and Lila, and she kept him updated on his condition.

Next thing was that he still didn’t look over the evidence Harry brought him. The second box he brought in. Now that they solved two other cases he was working on, he was free to take more time to seek justice for Gemma. He hoped Harry gave him last piece of the puzzle that will nail his suspect’s coffin.

The sad part was that he had to go all the way down to the basement.

He didn’t get too comfortable in his office and after he called his sister to check that Jeremy was doing alright, he picked up his badge and skipped down to the basement, too impatient to wait for the elevator.

CID basement of their borough consisted of a long hallway, a small barred guard station and automatic doors that led into a huge storage area for evidence. The hallway was exposed brick coloured sick-green and gave Louis old prison movies vibes every time he walked down there, expecting to be shanked by a greasy prison gang members.

The doors to evidence storage were white with no windows or openings. They didn’t even have a doorknob. They were so thick they were practically impenetrable if you didn’t know which button to press at the guard station. Manually disassembling them was ineffective. Louis sometimes wondered why the same care and concern wasn’t extended to the officers working on the floors above. All they had were open plan work spaces and creaky doors.

Derek was at his station, eyes glued to a Liverpool game and eating crisps. His chin wobbled with each bite and the buttons on his uniform were slightly stretched over his large belly and chest.

Louis gently shook the bars on the window separating them. “Hey Derek.”

Derek slightly inclined his head like he heard some annoying fly but chose to ignore it.

“Derek, be a good lad and open the door for me, will you?” Louis said louder, and Derek stopped chewing. Something on the TV screen was happening. Derek’s eyes were going back and forth.

“Yes!” he yelled and gripped his bag of crisps, crushing them to bits. He was still looking at the screen.

Louis sighed in annoyance.

Derek jumped out of his seat and waved his hands maniacally in celebration. “We won! Liverpool won! Bag it in, lads!” The crisps were all over his uniform and the floor.

“Derek!”

Derek finally looked at Louis and smiled widely. “Hey, Tomlinson. Did you see that? What a goal. That’s one for the history books, I tell ya.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can you open the door for me? I have work to do.” Louis rubbed his temple and gestured toward the white impenetrable door.

Derek put down his (now empty) bag of crisps on the table and pressed a few buttons. “Yeah. Here ya go, lad.” He said with a smile, not even bothered by Louis’ annoyance. “What a goal…” he muttered to himself.

The door opened slowly and widely and Louis entered the ventilated storage room.

Calling it a room would be an understatement. It was as large as a medium underground parking lot. The ceiling was low and the aisles were made of industrial shelves with various items found in different cases and labelled accordingly. From weapons to personal items and papers; everything the CID ever used as an evidence was here. They were bursting at the seams, but Louis always managed to find what he needed down here.

Louis was never in the main HQ evidence storage area, but he imagined it was twice as big as their small borough’s storage. And much better organised. And smelled a lot better.

He checked the label of the evidence he was looking for on his phone and then wandered down the long aisles of North London’s criminal history. It took him good twenty minutes to find Gemma’s box.

It was put inside a plastic bag with the old shoebox with cassette tapes. The G on the label was slightly smudged but legible and Louis took out the box he needed. It was fairly lightweight and he carried it to one of the small tables at the end of the aisle to look over the contents.

He blew on the top of the table to remove a slight layer of dust. He sneezed as he laid down the box. “I better not be getting any allergies.” He muttered to himself and lifted the lid.

At a first glance, there weren’t a lot of useful stuff in the box. A small teddy bear, several yellowish papers full of crossed out sentences written in pen, several monogrammed pens, notebooks, plastic figurines, a green scarf, and few gray-blue pamphlets advertising a book fair and convention in London.

Louis took another look at the pamphlets. The dates corresponded to dates when Gemma was killed and found. The unassuming flimsy paper had a list of popular authors and publishing people at the bottom with date and time when they will hold a lecture in the grand fair hall. Moderators were renowned university professors of the time.

This just might be the last missing evidence… The reason Gemma was in London in that late spring. He looked over the contents in the box again and looked at the book fair pamphlet.

His eye caught the scribbled-over yellowish paper and he picked it up to read. Could it be…?

The paper easily bent under Louis’ grip and he recognised Gemma’s handwriting. The words and sentence structure was so familiar, it was absolutely ridiculous to Louis that he had to laugh out loud. The empty storage basement echoed with his strained laughter and he leaned against the table.

All this time…

Harry had the final evidence just sitting around on his attic for the last twenty years. If Louis had this box a few weeks ago, he’d solve it in matter of days.

But as it was, he didn’t mind that it took those few extra weeks. He finally had the entire picture of the case.

He was done.

The last thing remained was to check who owned a property in North London in the 90’s. And who was it that gained the most from Gemma’s murder.

~*~

Louis waved at the barkeeper to refill his drink. It was his third Jack and coke, but he hardly felt the buzz from the anticipation that was brewing in him. In a few hours he was going to see Harry.

The young man topped Louis’ drink and looked at him in concern. Louis raised his eyebrows and curled his lip mouthing _what?_ and wrapped a hand around his glass. The lad was new at Bobby’s and Louis was stationed at the bar for some time, but there was no need to keep tabs on him since there were far more rowdier people in the pub.

He must’ve made a pitiful sight sitting at the bar alone.

“You make a pitiful sight.” A voice said from behind him.

“Hello to you too.” Louis mumbled and pushed his drink away.

Sanaya slid to the seat next to him. “Don’t stop drinking on my account. I’m here to join you.” She took off her jacket and waved to the barkeeper. He almost stumbled over himself to get Sanaya’s order.

“ _Carling_ , please.” She said and winked with a wide smile. The barkeeper smiled back and rushed to get her drink.

Louis clicked with his tongue and took a sip. “What will your girlfriend say about this?”

“She’ll be happy I got home earlier because I got my drink faster.” She said with another wink. She nudged him in the arm. “Why are you looking like a lone cop stereotype?”

“Have a lot on my mind.”

“Oh, really? Bec- oh thank you.” Sanaya said to the barkeeper and turned back to Louis. Barkeeper stood there for a moment dumbfounded and fish-mouthing, and then left to see other patrons.

Sanaya rolled her eyes. “Straight men are so stupid.”

“Gay men are not far off.”

“I’d say I agree, but I think you mean yourself.” Sanaya said, picking at the label of her beer.

Louis took a deep breath and exhaled dramatically, taking a long sip of his drink again.

“Now you’re actually acting like a cop stereotype.” Sanaya said and turned fully toward Louis, resting her elbow on the scratched bar top. “What happened?”

“Nothing yet. But something might and-“ Louis stopped and took a deep breath, “I might compromise a case.”

“Then don’t do it.” Sanaya shrugged and took a large gulp of her beer. Louis sighed. “Seriously, whatever it is, it’s not worth putting your career on the line.”

“If you asked me that six months ago I’d say the same but…. Now I’m not so sure.”

Sanaya hummed and put down her beer and turned back to Louis. “Sounds like there’s a guy.”

Louis huffed out an annoyed breath. “There is. I hate it.”

“That’s how every love song in the world got made. Emotions are pain in the ass, if you ask me.”

“Is that what you say to your girlfriend, too?” Louis smirked over the rim of his glass.

“Don’t try to change the subject. We’re talking about you, Tommo.” Sanaya glared at him but playfully. Then she patted the back of his palm and leaned closer to him. “Tell me what happened.”

It was nice having Sanaya with him. Even though they were partners and rarely talked too deep about personal things, she felt as close to him as a sister. When he missed Lila, he often went to chat to Sanaya. He thought that maybe she felt the same too. Louis was always the overprotective big brother. With Sanaya he let himself be the little brother that needed to be taken care of.

“Isn’t that always what it is? You meet someone and… they just change whatever you thought you knew.” Louis said, taking a big sip of his drink. “I hate it.”

“It’s that sad guy from the cold case, right? I knew it.” Sanaya said before Louis could protest. “You were buzzing like a little bee when he last came to the office.” Louis gave her a look at which she chuckled. “I think you’re making a bigger deal out of it than it is.”

“How so?”

“You’re working on the case and he’s connected to the victim. So what? All you need is to get someone to take over, and hide the relationship until the case goes to the court. Simple as that.”

“Well, if it’s that simple then why haven’t I done that before?”

“How serious is this thing with him?”

“Not serious at all.” Louis paused. “It’s barely anything at all.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“No.” Louis finished his drink. “But I’m having a date with him in a few hours and… I might. Something might happen.”

Sanaya rolled her eyes. “You’re stressing yourself for nothing, Louis. Sometimes you can be such an idiot.”

“Haven’t I already said that men are idiots?”

Sanaya inclined her head with a smirk on her face.

“Will you?” Louis asked, in a voice unusually small.

“What?”

“If anything happens with Harry… will you take over the case?”

“Of course. Have you solved it?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll happily reap the rewards while you did the hard work.” She smiled at him and winked.

Louis rolled his eyes and waved to the flustered barman to get him a cider. He needed to be sober to see Harry.

~*~

Louis lit the last candle on his kitchen window and then hovered over it. Was it too much? What did he say to Harry when they talked? That it was a friendly date? Or what? Maybe Harry was expecting more than that?

He cooked a simple chicken dinner with vegetables and called his sister to help him make a dessert. Louis was completely inept at baking (even after countless hours he spent watching _Great British Bake-Off_ ) and they settled for a chocolate pudding. It wasn’t anything impressive, but he hoped Harry will like it. He should know by now what he was getting into with Louis anyway.

Pudding was cooling in the fridge, chicken was almost ready in the oven and Louis decorated the dining table with tea candles and decorative beads. He had to buy napkins and he even matched the colours. He lit the few scented candles he had and put them on the window sill so the air smelled faintly of ocean breeze (Lila’s gift from their family vacation last summer).

Now, looking at all of it, he wondered if it was too much.

Before he could dwell on it longer, a doorbell rang. Excitement seized his guts and he rushed to open the door. Before he did, he checked if his hair was pushed up. Sanaya told him it made him look older and more mature. Actually she used the word ‘daddy’ and he cringed to the bottom of his soul, but he had to admit he looked a certain kind of handsome with his hair pushed back.

Hopefully, Harry will think the same.

When he opened the door he was greeted with a smiling Harry. And Louis’ heart skipped several beats. Harry was wearing skin-tight deep blue jeans, grey boots and a billowy shirt unbuttoned to half his torso. And his hair was especially curly, despite being short. He looked like he just stepped from a runway. Louis hoped his poor heart will still be beating by the end of the night. And that his dick will remain calm while exposed to this much sex-appeal.

“Louis, hi.” Harry’s voice was breathy, either like he was running to get to Louis’ apartment or like he was too excited to function like a human. Either way, Louis was deeply flattered.

“Hi. Come in.” Louis said and let him in. it was when Harry stepped in the hallway that he noticed he was carrying a bag. “Oh, you shouldn’t-“

“It’s for you.” Harry interrupted and pushed the bag in Louis hand with a large smile. “I don’t know if you drink wine, but it’s custom to bring something when you visit for the first time.”

“This is not your first time here.” Louis reminded him.

Harry shrugged. “It’s the time that counts.”

Louis didn’t say anything, but led Harry further into his apartment. He motioned to his sofa, telling Harry to make himself comfortable and then went to the kitchen to check up on dinner and to set aside the wine for later.

“I think the dinner is ready, if you’re hungry?” Louis said when he came back to the living room. Harry nodded and joined him. His eyes lit up when he saw the table and looked at Louis like he hung the moon.

“You did all this?”

Louis shrugged. “I wanted it to look nice.”

“It looks great, Louis. You didn’t have to, but it’s really nice.” Harry said and sat at the table, looking at Louis with a renewed spark in his eyes. His small smile didn’t falter. Louis took a deep breath and went to serve the dinner.

When he finally sat down to eat, he noticed that Harry didn’t stop looking at him. It set a small fire in his belly and the fire had the audacity to spread to his cheeks. Yet, he said nothing, afraid it will be too much too soon. Even he himself didn’t know what will come of this. What he wanted to come out of this. Following his gut when it came to solving cases was natural, but following his heart?

That needed some adjusting.

They made small talk, Harry complimenting the chicken and vegetables, Louis blushing more and thanking him. Then they continued onto talking about their jobs, families and small daily annoyances. Harry shared how he got stuck in a university elevator for fifteen minutes because too many people got on and the old elevator couldn’t handle it.

“It was mostly tired students who were too lazy to walk. That elevator always breaks down, but I’ve never been in it when it happened.”

“Were you scared?” Louis asked, sipping on the wine Harry brought. It was really good.

“Yeah. I mean,” Harry bit his lip as if he was embarrassed to admit it. “We weren’t in actual danger, it wasn’t like in the movies when it breaks and it’s falling down the shaft. There was a moment or two when I was genuinely scared.”

“But there were students around you.” Louis said, and Harry nodded.

“Had to be the role model.” He added.

“Did your life flash in front of your eyes?” Louis teased, smiling at Harry over the rim of his wine glass.

Harry chuckled. Then he leaned on his elbows and looked wistfully at Louis. “It didn’t. Because it’s not true.” He took a deep breath, licking his lips to continue, “You think about the most important things, your deepest desires. And I didn’t stop thinking about them since I stepped out of the elevator.” He took his own glass of wine and took a long gulp, his eyes not leaving Louis.

Louis’ voice got stuck in his throat. He looked away. He didn’t have to ask what Harry was thinking about in that elevator. His look said everything. But, just to be sure…

“What-“ he cleared his throat, “what did you think about?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to look shy and he looked away. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay.” Louis said, half-relieved and half-frustrated for Harry teasing him like this. He stood up and began to pick up their plates and cutlery. “You go on. I’ll just put these in the dishwasher.”

“Okay.” Harry stood up as well, “can we play Scrabble? I saw you have the game on the shelf.”

Louis glanced briefly over his shoulder at Harry. Scrabble? He wanted to play _Scrabble_. “Yeah, sure. You set it up, while I finish here.”

Harry disappeared behind the doors and Louis tried to think if ‘playing Scrabble’ was some kind of euphemism, like the ‘Netflix and chill’ Sanaya talked about that the kids these days use.

Fuck, he was so old.

Harry probably thought the same, since he suggested Scrabble. What do washed-out men like Louis do in their spare time but play board games? _Damn, was his life exciting_.

Before he could drown himself in self-deprecation, he joined Harry in the living room. Harry already placed everything down and fiddled with his phone. Music played from it and he set it aside. He patted the sofa next to him.

“Come join me.”

Louis raised an eyebrow at the obvious flirting cliché but he said nothing. He sat opposite Harry.

“Can’t have you see my letters, can I?” Louis said and cracked his knuckles.

“Competitive?” Harry narrowed his eyes but his goofy smile betrayed the stony façade.

“Always. I hate losing.”

“You’ve found yourself a worthy opponent then. I hate losing too.”

Louis offered his hand to him over the board. “May the best man win.”

Harry took it with a smile.

“Deal.”

They played in silence at first, mostly because Harry feigned deep concentration and focus on the game, but as soon as he started losing he got vocal and started accusing Louis of cheating. Louis _was_ cheating but it was funny seeing Harry grow red in the face and mess with his hair as Louis played three or four syllable words.

Louis shrugged when Harry put ‘confess’ on the board. “And you call yourself an English professor, Harold. A bobby is crushing you at Scrabble. A disgrace, honestly.”

Harry frowned but his cheeks were still slightly rosy. He looked like a plump apple, sweet and soft. His hair was a mess but the competitive spark in his eyes made Louis want to kiss him.

“I still think you’re cheating.” Harry mumbled while he waited for Louis’ turn. Louis shrugged again and smirked at Harry.

“Thinking is not proving.” Louis said and spelled ‘fear’. Harry raised an eyebrow at him and put ‘less’ next to Louis’ word. Louis laughed on the inside when he saw which words each of them played. Harry was the optimistic and quirky player, while Louis stuck to the obvious, tried and true which gave him more advantage. Harry was a risk-taker and Louis played it safe.

Was he really analysing their personalities based on how they played _Scrabble_? He really needed a vacation. Maybe he could take Harry with him. Which-

“Where’s your mind at, Louis?” Harry asked while he was writing down their points. He asked it so softly, Louis almost didn’t hear him.

“I-“ the words got stuck in his throat, “what do you want to happen?”

“I want to crush you at Scrabble.” Harry said with a cheeky smile. “I think I have some good words to finish you off.”

“And after that?”

Harry paused in his movements and looked at Louis with wide eyes. “Wh-what do you want to happen?”

“I don’t know.” He started to wring his hands and looked at the floor. “I just keep thinking I want to kiss you again.”

There it was. The truth. And while it felt so freeing to say what was on his mind so Harry wouldn’t keep guessing, it was now equally terrifying to wait for Harry’s reaction.

“Aha.” Harry said, looking down at the board and Louis’ heart fell down to his feet.

“I know we never mentioned the kiss since it happened. But… I like you, Harry, and I need to know what you think of me too. Because I’m taking a huge risk here.”

“Because of your job.” From Harry’s lips it sounded both like a statement and a question.

“Yes.” Louis licked his lips, Harry still wasn’t looking at him. “I don’t want to compromise Gemma’s case just because I got involved with you. The barrister would have a field day and the murderer might go off. And your sister might never get the justice you want for her.”

Harry nodded. “But…”

“Yes?” Louis was literally at the edge of his seat, waiting for Harry to say the right words and see his face.

“You probably have a back-up plan, right?” he looked up and Louis was floored with how much yearning there was in Harry’s eyes. He looked like it might physically crush him to hurt Louis’ career or never to see Louis again.

“I might.” Louis admitted in a small voice. “If it’s worth it. I won’t do anything just for a fling.”

Harry jumped out of his seat and kneeled next to Louis, putting his hands on Louis’ knees.

“It’s not a fling. Not for me. I’m all in, if you want me.”

Louis cupped Harry’s head. Then he gave him one of the softest smiles and kissed him. Much like their first kiss, it was soft and sweet. A confirmation of who and what they were to each other in that moment. What they wanted to be in the coming days, months or even years.

Louis hoped to God that he could have Harry for as long as he could. His own yearning wasn’t clear to him until he locked lips with Harry. How loneliness frozen deep in his bones started melting into thin air when his lips touched Harry’s.

Was this how happiness tasted? Like Harry’s lips, moist with apple-scented lip balm and wine they had for dinner. Was this how it smelled? Like vanilla scented candles and Harry’s understated jasmine perfume.

He didn’t know when they moved, but suddenly they were both standing and kissing each other with more fervour.

“We shouldn’t do this.” Louis mumbled against Harry’s lips. He felt Harry smile.

“Why does it feel so good then?” he mumbled back and kept pawning at Louis’ body. Louis’ body agreed. He could do whatever he wanted and Louis was powerless to stop him. How did this man manage to bewitch him with his witty lines and easy smile? Louis wasn’t a teenage boy anymore - easily swayed with two perfect words and pretty eyes – he was a grown man, with a good career and established life.

“I don’t know.” Louis leaned back, temporarily interrupting Harry’s wandering hands. “Everything feels good with you.”

Harry’s eyes widened briefly and then he gently cupped Louis’ head. “This… with us… I’m giving it all to you, Louis. If you want something to happen, then it’s your choice to make. It’s all up to you now.”

Something in Louis clicked in place. It was obvious from the start that it was solely on him if anything happened. Harry was open and supportive, never pushing Louis into anything, yet somehow Louis’ heart responded the same. It decided for him, and ultimately it wasn’t a choice at all.

“I…” his tongue got stuck in his throat. He closed his eyes, basking in the brief darkness and then opened them to see Harry’s need and uncertainty reflecting in his green eyes. He needed to put him out of his misery.

“Take me to bed.” Louis’ voice was rendered to a hoarse whisper, and Harry’s skin broke out in goosebumps. He silently picked Louis up, kissing his chin and then carried him to the bedroom.

He stumbled when he tried to lay him down so Louis flopped like a fish out of water on the bed. They started laughing but proceeded to undress each other clumsily. Harry covered Louis’ body with his own, naked skin to naked skin, and their laughter dissipated into silent stares of desire.

Every nerve in Louis was charged, waiting for Harry’s touch and kiss, fearing he might finish too quickly with how high strung he was already. He pushed a hand through Harry’s hair and pulled him down to kiss him breathlessly. Harry responded enthusiastically, matching Louis’ need with exploring every inch with his hands.

He grabbed Louis’ arse with both hands and Louis keened at the sensation. “Do sexy detectives like you have handcuffs on hand?”

Louis huffed a breath. “Isn’t it too early to reveal kinks, Harold?”

Harry grinned and shook his head. “I was just wondering. If we ever need to spice things up in the future.”

“If you don’t fuck me right about now, there might not be a future.”

Harry chuckled and kissed Louis’ forehead. “Yes, sir.”

And then Louis felt everything disappear into white ecstasy.

~*~

“Glad we could finally meet, Mr. Bracque.” Louis said, crossing his arms on his chest. “It’s interesting how we always missed you at your home, at your office, college grounds…”

“Third time’s the charm, right?” Bracque said with an easy smile, intertwining his fingers on the table of the interrogation room.

 _It had been quite a hassle to track him down again_ , Louis thought. Almost like he was one step ahead of them and always knew when to hide when they came knocking to finalise their investigation. But, luckily, with a tip from an anonymous source they finally caught him when he was leaving for a lecture abroad.

If they were few hours late, they would never bring him in for another interview.

“Yes. But in our case, fourth time.”

Bracque shrugged and his smile widened. “Here I am.”

Louis nodded and then sat opposite Bracque. The chair squeaked satisfactorily under him and Louis felt his posture loosen. He loved this part.

“How is your career progressing these days, professor?”

Bracque’s eyes squinted. “Very well, I suppose.”

“Care to elaborate?” Louis leaned forward. “To someone with no academic experience. I’m quite curious to what people like you do.”

“Like any other scholar. I read up on new theories, new perspectives on reading, give lectures. I’m less involved in my own university, but instead I’m invited to foreign universities to give lectures.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or I was supposed to do that later today.”

“Yes. And what is your field of expertise, I can’t quite remember…?”

“Modernist Writing with a special interest in feminist writers.”

“Ah, yes. Virginia Woolf and the gang.” Louis said with a grin.

“Yes.” Bracque’s tone was clipped.

“Like professor Hardgrave.” Louis added nonchalantly, pretending to look over some papers but his attention was focused on Bracque and his reaction.

Bracque paused. “Yes. We’re both exceptional in our field.”

“Hmm. But the university doesn’t really need two experts on Virginia Woolf, do they?”

“We’re a large university. Multiple experts are welcomed at Hertford College.” Bracque’s voice got higher in defense.

“Nowadays, sure. But in the nineties you were a surplus.” Louis cocked his head in thought. “Or you were going to be unless you did something amazing for your career. Like, write a ground-breaking feminist essay?”

Bracque stared at Louis blankly. “I was doing my job. I’m required to think and write essays on relevant literary theories. Are all detectives this dense?”

“I’m going to ignore that jab at my expense.” Louis said with a poisonous smile. “I’m actually implying that the essay fell into your lap quite conveniently. Dr. Hardgrave was always the smarter, better, thinking-outside-the-box kind of academic, while you were just trudging along and slipped under cracks to get where you wanted. And then you heard that it wasn’t enough. That _you_ weren’t enough and that you needed something to make yourself stand out for the university to keep you in your coveted position.” Louis paused and flipped some papers set on the table to find the one he wanted.

“And then… a student, a bright young woman writes a brilliant essay. Something that could push the boundaries of literary theory and pave the way for new scholarly thought. Exactly what _you_ needed.”

Bracque’s smile faded and his face grew pale. “What are you talking about?”

“Gemma Styles wrote a paper for one of her classes about Feminist Writing. Dr Hardgrave said it was worthless and that she won’t grade her. So she probably wrote another one and came to you for advice. She showed you her early draft and you knew how great it was even then. But before she could send in her finished work, you stole it from her and published it under your own name.”

“That’s not true. What proof do you have?” Bracque demanded, veins in his neck protruding.

Louis pulled out a yellowed paper full of scratchy handwriting and crossed out sections with Gemma’s name and the name of her class. It was the first page of her essay.

“I cross-checked with your published piece, professor Bracque. Besides some minor edits, the papers are identical.”

“That-“

“Not enough proof, I know.” Louis shrugged and pushed a hand down his face. “Merely circumstances. Your words against hers. And who would believe a young girl anyway?”

“Right.” Bracque smiled smugly and pressed his palms together tightly. “So, I guess you’re in a dead end, detective. So, I best be on my way-“ he pushed himself on his feet, ready to leave.

“But we do have other evidence…” Louis raised his voice, making Bracque pause in his steps. “You were at a book fair in North London when Gemma was there too. You moderated a book presentation, if I’m not mistaken?”

Bracque pursed his lips in annoyance and turned back to Louis. “Yes. I was at a book fair. But lots of my students were there. It was quite a popular gathering. Anyone could’ve come and gone. Doesn’t mean I saw Gemma or killed her.”

Louis nodded. “Please sit, Mr. Bracque. I’m not done yet.”

Bracque glanced at the door and then walked to his allocated seat with heavy steps. He sat down without a word, glaring at Louis.

Louis picked up some papers and leafed through them. “Your wife… ahem, ex-wife is Amelia Swift?” at his nod, Louis continued. “Then known as Amelia Bracque-Swift? She had a property in North London – a nice little house inherited from her family. Which she was occasionally using, but more frequently after you decided to divorce. Am I correct so far?”

Bracque’s eyebrows furrowed like he wasn’t completely following where Louis was going but nodded nonetheless.

“This lovely property was empty during your moderating position at the fair? So you stayed there for the few days it was held…”

“What’s this got to do with anything?” Bracque interrupted. “Yes, I was in the house because Amelia decided to go to Spain with her lover. She left me the keys and everything. We were separated for a year before we divorced. It was amicable. I have no ill thoughts for her.”

“Yes.” Louis said, looking through more papers. “That all checks out.”

“That still doesn’t prove anything. You’re keeping me here without reason.” Bracque stood up again, trying to leave.

Louis clicked with his tongue and put the papers on the table. He looked Bracque dead in the eyes before landing his final blow.

“I remembered that beautiful ship on your desk and it was quite the coincidence that the shape of it was almost identical to bruising on Gemma’s head.” Louis licked his lips, and pushed some pictures towards Bracque. “Even the fatal wound is in a peculiar shape that matches your model, professor Bracque.”

Bracque was as white as the papers scattered on the table. He sat down again slowly, like his knees were giving up under him. His palms were shaking and his lips pressed together.

“We’ve found the murder weapon.” Louis continued in the same casual tone. “Now, the question was why did Gemma get all the way to London to confront you when you were living in Oxford? It would be one thing you’d get rid of the body, that’s not unusual, but Gemma bought a ticket and was seen on the train to London… that doesn’t make sense, does it?”

Bracque sat quietly, not even looking at Louis. He knew he was done for. He was just waiting for Louis to finish his monologue.

“Doesn’t make sense…” Louis mused, scratching his jaw. “Then there’s the matter of your divorce. In 1998, you and your wife lived separately for a while but no one knew about it. She had a house in London, though, where she went before you officially filed the divorce year after.”

“At the time, she was on a holiday in Spain and you were looking after the place. Gemma knew that too, from your personal tutoring every month. So she went there, told you she was going to report you for plagiarism and you killed her in a spur of the moment. Models are quite handy, eh?”

“Okay.” Bracque mumbled. “Okay.”

“You did a pretty sloppy job of cleaning your ship, so we tested it for traces of Gemma’s blood. And… the results came back positive.” Louis exhaled deeply, like he tired himself from talking too much and nailing Bracque’s coffin with each new word.

Bracque covered his head with his hands and took a deep breath. “You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

Bracque looked pleadingly at Louis. “My wife was leaving me. She was going on that holiday with one of her co-workers. I thought she was just a friend, but apparently…” he waved a dismissive hand. “And now this little brat was going to destroy my career. I could- I couldn’t let that happen. My job was everything I had left.”

_It was horribly stuffy in the main hall of the fair. Even after the sun had set two hours ago, the glass building kept the hot air inside, and with thousands of people converging in one place it was both uncomfortably hot and humid. Bracque was sweating like a pig as he descended the small stage on the left to pick up his things._

_He was just beginning to pack to leave for Amelia’s house and drink that bottle of red wine he kept in the fridge, when a familiar voice greeted him._

_He was slightly startled to see Gemma Styles. Of course, she often went to events like these and talked to him about them in their tutoring sessions but he never thought she’d accost him like this. She looked furious and slightly damp from the London weather. It wasn’t raining but the humidity was high, it leached into everything - alive or dead. He didn’t want to see her, but he had to remain professional._

_“Good evening, Gemma. Are you enjoying yourself at the fair?” he said with the utmost politeness._

_Gemma’s smile was strained. “I am, thank you, professor.”_

_“Was there something you needed? I’m in quite a hurry.” He said, gesturing to his bag and several paper bags filled with books and complimentary gifts._

_Gemma nodded. “Is there some place we can talk? In private?”_

_Bracque raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure whatever it is, we can schedule another tutoring session. I’m quite busy right now.”_

_Gemma stepped towards him with a withering glare. “It can’t wait.”_

_Bracque took a deep breath and exhaled in exasperation. “Listen, Gemma…”_

_“I know what you did.”_

_Bracque kept fiddling with his things, his back to Gemma and dread slightly shaking his hands. “What is that?”_

_“You plagiarised my essay.” Gemma’s tone was icy and loud. Enough for Bracque’s colleagues or unsuspecting passers-by to hear. He turned quickly and moved into her personal space._

_“Miss Styles. Gemma.” He glanced around to see if there was someone who he knew close by. “You can’t talk like that in a place like this. There must be some misunderstanding.”_

_Gemma shifted, but her glare remained. He could see her how brown her eyes were, now that they were filled with rage. She was so young and so beautiful when she was angry. “There is no mistake, professor. You took what I wrote for Dr Hardgrave’s class and published it under your name.”_

_Her last words were loud and shrill that several people turned to look at them. Bracque’s blood pressure was rising and he had to get Gemma out of there, lest someone heared her. He could not risk losing his position and blemish his reputation. Even a whisper of plagiarism could be enough to tarnish what he spent last ten years building._

_He put his arm on Gemma’s shoulder. “Let’s go somewhere private, shall we? We can talk and clear the air. Maybe come to a mutually benefiting agreement?” He flashed his winning smile, and while Gemma’s frown remained, her posture relaxed._

_“Alright.”_

_He didn’t think it would be that easy, but he’d take what he could get. He picked up his things and walked Gemma to his car in the car park underground. He drove in silence, but he kept glancing subtly at Gemma who was picking at the zipper of her purse and looked down at her lap._

_She was just a frightened little girl. He could reason with her. And if that didn’t take, he could always pay her off. Students like her were desperate for money. Always scraping every last penny._

_She’s reasonable. He could win this._

_It started raining when he parked in front of Amelia’s house. He turned off the engine, and looked over at Gemma who was curiously taking in her surroundings. It was fairly dark, and even he couldn’t clearly see the house._

_“Where are we?” she asked._

_“At my house.” Bracque said, not taking his eyes off Gemma. “When do you have to be back in Oxford? Are there any late night trains?”_

_Gemma shrugged. “I think there’s one after midnight. I still have four more hours.”_

_“I’m sure we can talk it out in four hours.”_

_Bracque led Gemma inside Amelia’s house, took her jacket and offered her a seat in his living room. He left his things by the door and closed it._

_It was a small room decorated with heavy furniture and antique knick-knacks. Bracque remembered helping Amelia carefully place the ornamented picture above the fireplace and how he struggled to place his antique model of a British ship on the second shelf near the window._

_There was a small spirits cabinet hiding behind curtains so he walked over and offered Gemma a drink. She declined, and while Bracque wanted to drink wine more than this heavier stuff, he poured a glass._

_“So… you believe I stole something from you?”_

_“I_ know _you stole from me. I read the magazine.”_

_Bracque scoffed between two sips of his drink. “And where did you read that?”_

_“In the_ Journal of Modern Literature _. it was in the library.” Gemma said, turning her body towards Bracque who looked at her like she was a very interesting bug._

Fun to look at, but should be squashed before it was too late _._

_“Professor, I don’t want to cause trouble. I only want credit for my own work.”_

_Bracque sighed. “But, Gemma. We know each other. Do you really believe that I would write a paper based on someone else’s work? I am quite capable of an independent thought. And I think this was my best work yet.” Bracque said, coming behind the sofa and putting an arm on Gemma’s shoulder. She resisted the urge to move away._

_“Maybe you’re just confused because we discussed it so much and you think I wrote down some of what you said. I won’t say it doesn’t happen, but I would hardly call that plagiarism. It was simply an academic discussion.”_

_“No, it wasn’t.” Gemma said sharply and stood up, brushing Bracque’s hand away. “I read that paper and it’s identical to mine. I even gave you the finished copy I was about to present to Dr Hardgrave. And you never gave it back.”_

_“Gemma, calm down.”_

_“No! You took my work and presented it as your own! That’s not right. You can’t do that.”_

_“But what proof do you have?” Bracque’s tone was calm while Gemma looked like a minor hurricane, standing with her crossed arms with a sofa between them._

_“I’m a respectable university professor, you’re a student. A poor one at that. I could easily spin this as you trying to discredit me for profit. And I’m not giving you any money, Gemma. Even if what you’re saying is true. But it’s not.”_

_“I don’t want any money.” Her tone was small, and Bracque could feel her anger and brave façade crumbling. She was helpless and she was finally realising that._

_“How about this?” he said, moving around the sofa and standing next to Gemma. Her wide and sad eyes made something paternal stir inside him. “What if I say there was a mistake in printing? That your name was left out but you made considerable contribution? An addendum of sorts? I’d still give you credit if you insists, but nobody will have to scream plagiarism.”_

_Gemma mulled it over for a second. “But… it’s my work.”_

_“Come on, Gemma.” Bracque was growing agitated. “It’s the best solution. Instead of going back and forth on who’s right and who’s wrong, we can both win. I’ll be the main author of the text and you’ll be added as a contributor. Nobody has to know.”_

_“You…” Gemma’s arms moved to her sides and she looked away. She was defeated. Bracque’s lips twitched into a small smug smile and he went to top off his drink. He took a long swig to finish it and then reached for a bottle of single malt._

_“Professor, I… could I get a glass of water?” Gemma asked, her voice small and meek. Bracque put his glass down and turned around._

_“Of course. I’ll be right back.” He said, and strode towards Gemma. He pat her on the shoulder. “This is the best for everyone, Gemma. Do you agree?”_

_“Well… I’m not happy, but it is what it is.”_

_“Good. You’ll see. Having my name next to yours will only do good for your career. It’ll be a foot in the door for you to contribute more regularly to scholarly magazines and even give lectures at great universities once you graduate. Only good can come from this.”_

_“I suppose you’re right.” Gemma shrugged, dislodging Bracque’s hand. He took that as a sign to leave._

_Once in the kitchen, he quickly found a glass and filled it. He then opened the fridge to see if he could make the two of them something for dinner. There were still three more hours left for Gemma to get to her train._

_He could be a good host. He won’t kick her out, not now that they’ve come to an agreement. It wasn’t the solution he wanted, but if it shut up Gemma for good, then he’d let that minor blow in his career slide. He had a good reputation and he could only go up from here._

_Now they_ had _to keep him on the university. That old shrew Hardgrave will be out before she could finish her last bottle of Stock._

_Bracque glanced once again at the contents of his fridge, decided it was not worth doing anything and closed it. They could grab some chicken from a chicken shop nearby._

_He took Gemma’s water and strode to the living room. He didn’t want to keep Gemma alone for too long. She still could change her mind._

_The door was opened and he saw her rummaging through a bag at the entrance. He recognised the brown leather and the worn handle._

_“What are you doing?” he said, startling her. She moved away from the bag, clutching in her hands a wad of papers. Bracque’s eyes widened._

_Gemma shook the papers in her hands. “You said I have no evidence, but how is this for evidence? The original draft for my essay. In_ my _handwriting.”_

_“That’s not…” Bracque’s mind was moving in hundred directions. How could he get away with this? Gemma was growing bolder by the minute, the look in her eyes glowing with triumph. He lunged after her, but she moved away and he hurt his foot on the sofa._

_“Don’t lie to me, professor! I deserve to be given credit for my work! You can’t do this.”_

_His foot was throbbing. He looked from the papers to Gemma. That was it. There was no turning back from this. His career will be ruined._

_He needed a drink._

_He tried to tune out Gemma’s gleeful sounds behind him as he walked over to the spirits cabinet again. His hands shook as he tried to pour some whiskey in it. He never noticed Gemma was following him._

_“You’re going to walk down to the dean’s office and tell him what you did. You can’t hide from this, professor! Not now that I have evidence in my hands.” She was pattering away in his ear, and Bracque’s blood was boiling._ Did she really have to spell out his demise out loud?

_“I can’t believe it! My name in a scholarly journal!” Gemma muttered to herself. “I’ll have to tell mum and Harry…”_

_He couldn’t stand her shrill voice and her presence anymore. “Shut up. Just shut up!”_

_“I won’t.” she said, taking a few calming breaths. “You will drive me to Oxford and we’re going to tell the dean. You have no choice.”_

You have no choice.

_Bracque felt like a caged animal, acting on instinct. It was one thing to be given enough time to mourn his career, and he’d be willing to do that peacefully. But Gemma was insistent. He really had no choice._

_It was an out of body experience. Like he was looking at someone else pick up the antique British ship and hit Gemma on the head with it. It pierced her skull so cleanly that there wasn’t enough time for her to scream. One second she was threatening him, and in the next one she was lying on the floor. Her eyes were looking unseeing at the ceiling, and her body was sprawled unnaturally on his wife’s living room floor._

_For a moment he felt tremendous relief. A threat had been vanquished. He could breathe for a moment._

_And then the reality of the situation hit him._

_He had to get rid of the body._

_The next two hours were a blur to Bracque. He put Gemma in his car and dumped her in the woods miles away, taking out money, jewellery and her I.D. to look as if she’d been mugged. He threw it away in the neighbour’s trash on his way back to the house._

_He cleaned the living room as thoroughly as he could without making too much noise for his neighbours to hear. One look at his British ship antique told him he had to repair it to avoid suspicion. He couldn’t throw it out because they might trace it back to him. He had to clean it and repair the dents. He worked all night to get any trace of Gemma off it and make it look new. As new as an antique could look._

_By the morning he had purple bags under his eyes but the adrenaline still coursed through him. He had to go to work to avoid suspicion._

_And he did. Acting like nothing had happened._

_It was surprisingly easy._

_When he locked himself in his office once his classes for the day ended, he rummaged through his bag for the papers with the original clean draft he took from Gemma. He gripped them in his hands, wondering how few leaves of paper could cause so much damage._

_He walked over to the fireplace, lit it and watched the papers burn._

_He drank from a whiskey glass he poured himself, thinking that his only mistake in all of this was that he didn’t burn them sooner._

_Nonetheless, watching the paper shrivel up and blacken gave him an enormous satisfaction in knowing that the only piece of evidence that tied him to Gemma was now disappearing before his eyes._

Louis gathered his papers and photographs. “I’m sure you could’ve found a good job in some smaller university. You’re a smart man, professor Bracque. Why resort to stealing from a young girl, anyway?”

Bracque looked ashamed. “I- It was a spur of the moment thing. I wasn’t thinking.”

Louis stood up, and levelled Bracque with an even look. “Young girls usually get hurt because men like you don’t think.”

Louis left the room but heard Bracque slump down on the table in defeat.

It’s strange how places never really change. People are the same, buildings and businesses are the same, even trees in parks are the same. Someone might’ve painted their shop window a different colour, but the same people frequent that shop and the owner is still the same.

People say that after a long trip it’s comforting to come home where everything’s the same. It must be true, but what do you do when a new place you visited for the second time is still the same and loses the charm of novelty?

Are you disappointed or happy? How do you deal with sameness of the fixed mental image of a place that occupied you for such a long time? When the reality is the same as what you imagined?

Louis and Harry were walking hand in hand through the streets of Oxford. They passed the gothic facades and inviting shops. It was a warm sunny day, unusual for October, but it brought more people outside. 

Harry shivered slightly in the shadows and Louis squeezed his hand. It didn’t offer much warmth, but they’d be back in London in no time and get properly heated.

“I can’t believe it’s been twenty years since I was here.” Harry said, mostly to himself. They were standing in front of Gemma’s _alma mater_. One of the main buildings of Hertford College. The large doors leading into the inner courtyard were opened and Louis wanted to get inside but waited for Harry’s cue.

Harry took out his cassette player that Louis gave him back after Gemma’s case was solved. He played with the buttons and opened and closed the lid where a cassette would lie.

Louis remembered one of Gemma’s tapes: _“Harry was so excited to see the dorm when he and mum came to visit.”_ _Louis heard a sniffle. “Of course, he tried to play it off like he was cool and not really interested but I saw how he was looking at the Law Building and other students.” She giggled slightly. “I think he was really happy for me.”_

“Changed for the better?” Louis asked, his voice low.

“No.” Harry said, taking steps towards the courtyard. “It’s still the same.”

“Is that good?” Louis followed him, trying to match Harry’s long stride.

Harry turned his head half-way and smiled at Louis. “I’m not sure.”

It was the same answer Harry gave him four months ago when Roland Bracque was accused and locked up for thirty years. When the verdict was released, Louis turned to Harry and asked him if he felt like he got the closure he wanted.

Harry mulled over his answer for a while. “I’m not sure.” He squeezed Louis’ hand. “I still feel the same.”

Places stay the same and, yes, you’re the one who changed, usually for the better, but sometimes the sameness of a place might not give you the comfort you need.

And sometimes you never get the closure you want.

_“I said before how changing strong opinions and biases is slow or even impossible. How activism and discussions rarely make a radical difference because people like to ignore problems that don’t affect them personally.” “But I’ve also realised that while most people will continue on with their lives, there’s always that small group of people who might change their ways. Who will do something. And they will raise children who will do things differently and soon enough...” she took a deep breath. “Change will happen.” “It has to.”_

==


End file.
